A Rickety Bridge
by Rienna Hawkes
Summary: It's more than Naraku and a curse that stands between Miroku and Sango. This is a take on their relationship that is based on the manga and was was written and completed a couple of years before the series officially wrapped up. Warning: strong M rating.
1. A Hot Spring

**Author's Note:** I've always loved Miroku and Sango as a couple and wanted to give writing a story about them a shot. I am more of a fan of the manga than the anime, though, and I've decided to stick with the manga for the backdrop rather than try to mesh the two mediums. This also means storylines and characters made for the anime will not be included. This story opens right after the arc with the vanishing mountain, Gakusanjin, and just before the entrance of Goryoumaru (Vol. 35).

**Chapter One:** Hot Spring

Inuyasha and Kagome weren't speaking. This usually meant that Inuyasha had said something tactless, probably regarding Kagome's cooking or Kikyou, and gotten more "osuwaris" for it than he felt he deserved. But this was different and Sango, Miroku, and Shippou were beginning to worry.

Kagome wasn't just angry, she was subdued and wouldn't participate in any sort of interaction with the rest of the group. Inuyasha's behavior was more alarming. He treated her with extreme care and reverence, not even nagging for her to pick up the pace or to make him ramen. When he did speak to her, it was only about the most mundane and impersonal things, and his voice was tentative. Whatever had happened must have been really, really bad if Inuyasha understood that he had done something wrong and was actually trying to apologize for it.

They had just fought Mouryoumaru and Hakudoushi for the Fuyouheki and Inuyasha had been in his usual bad temper at the tender goodbye Kouga had given Kagome. But all that was normal, none of it could possibly be the cause of this. Normally Kagome would spend days coddling Inuyasha after a run-in with Kouga to reassure him of her affections, but nothing had seemed to go the way it should this time.

Having no prior experience with anything this serious, the taiji-ya and the houshi were at a loss. Normally they would just sit back and let the two of them work things out, periodically suggesting to Inuyasha that he apologize, but two weeks had passed with no improvement.

Sango walked beside Miroku, her arms wrapped around herself. She didn't know what to do for her friend. She wanted to know what had happened, but every time she tried to talk to her, Kagome made it clear simply by the tone of her voice that she did not want to discuss Inuyasha. But truly, Sango wanted to talk about her own problems, too.

She glanced at Miroku next to her, then quickly away again. A faint flush stole over her cheeks and she pulled her arms in closer to herself. She didn't want him to catch her staring. She couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his head, though.

It had been a month since he'd asked her to marry him and she'd accepted his proposal. After the exchange that had followed, in which he hadn't quite managed to hide his intention to continue frolicking with other women, Sango might have wondered if perhaps the proposal itself had merely been a ploy to get her to allow him liberties with her body, but he had kept his hands to himself completely—he hadn't even tried to watch her bathe since. This spawned another worry altogether. What if he had asked her to be his wife merely to placate her feelings? He knew she loved him—her jealous rampages and not-so-subtle doe-eyed stares had seen to that, and her last tantrum had left him bloody. True, this was more the fault of a brainwashing, mystical lizard, but she had gotten herself into a bad situation. Was it possible he had simply asked her because he was afraid of her stabbing him again? The thought depressed her so thoroughly it made her want to.

"Fucking shut-up already!" Inuyasha growled.

Kirara was walking next to Sango, Shippou sitting on her back chattering relentlessly to compensate for the four silent members of the party. The particular story he was telling now had gone on long enough to annoy anyone who was actually listening to it. Unfortunately for Shippou, that happened to be Inuyasha.

"There's a clearing through those trees," Miroku said. "It looks like a decent campsite."

"And I can smell a hot spring," Shippou added enthusiastically, hoping that they were finally stopping for the day.

Inuyasha was aggravated. "We've still got a good hour of daylight left," he argued.

"And we started an hour before sunrise this morning," Shippou countered, his tail twitching.

"So that we could get an extra hour of travel in," Inuyasha snapped. "You're not even walking, so what do you care."

"My butt's sore from Kirara's bony back."

Kirara screwed her head back to look at Shippou, offended.

"I'd like to stop."

Everyone looked at Kagome, startled. She hadn't spoken much in the last several days.

Inuyasha visibly struggled with his temper. "Fine. Go set up camp, you lazy pansies." He turned to go.

"Are you leaving?" Miroku asked placidly.

"I'm going to go scout ahead," he barked back.

After he had disappeared, the rest of the group moved to the campsite. Miroku immediately set to building a fire while Shippou disappeared briefly. Sango lifted the bundle off her back with a sigh, rubbing her shoulders, while Kagome dug through her pack for food.

Shippou came bounding back on all fours. "There _is_ a hot spring!"

Miroku looked up from his work. "Why don't you girls take your baths now while Shippou and I set up camp."

Shippou groaned loudly, "But I want to go now, too."

"You can wait," Miroku said.

Sango felt a twinge of irrational temper. How could that perpetual pervert suggest she bathe without even a hint of a leer? Perhaps Sango was not the only one to be possessed in the village of oni women. She didn't know who this ass was, but she knew he couldn't be Miroku. She might have picked a fight with him, but she didn't have the energy to do anything but agree. Kagome didn't seem to either, and the two girls gathered their supplies without a word and headed down to the hot spring.

When they were settled in the water and Kagome began to soap her arm, Sango couldn't contain herself.

"He hasn't grabbed my butt in three days."

Kagome looked up, mildly surprised at the abruptness and intensity of the conversation. "Is that different?"

"Yes, usually I'm peeling his hands off me three or four times a day."

"That often?"

"Yes—it happens mostly while we're flying on Kirara."

"And, I take it, you're not happy about this change."

Sango looked down, blushing. "No," she admitted.

"Have you told him this?"

Sango's eyes widened, "Of course not!"

Kagome actually smiled. "I was just asking. Why have things changed, do you think?"

"I was hoping you could help me with that one."

"Ah," said Kagome, "I see. I hate to disappoint you Sango, but I really don't know."

"Oh," Sango deflated a little. "I only asked because you seem to be able to read him pretty well. I have too many feelings to see him clearly sometimes."

That seemed to make Kagome gloomier. "That's what happens when you love someone."

"I just don't understand—what did I do?"

"Probably nothing."

"It kind of started after I agreed to bear his child."

Kagome considered this, her lips twisting a little unpleasantly. "Well, that's likely it. No matter what they may pretend, guys don't actually want what they say they want." She finished rinsing off then climbed ashore to where her towel waited.

Sango stared after her, blinking. Kagome hadn't been talking about Miroku at all—in fact, Sango had the sneaking feeling Kagome just told her what had happened with Inuyasha.

Slowly, Sango followed her friend out of the water. The two dressed in silence, then headed to camp, where Inuyasha was sitting sullenly in a tree, Shippou was playing with Kirara, and Miroku looked up from the pot hanging over the fire.

"It's boiling," he told Kagome. "We'll hurry with our baths." He rose. "Come on, Shippou, Inuyasha."

Shippou jumped and scampered down to the hot spring, followed by Kirara. Inuyasha didn't move.

"Are you coming?" Miroku asked.

"No," Inuyasha said from his tree.

Miroku sighed and headed into the brush.

Kagome was opening a package of food and dumping it into the boiling water.

"Would you like some help?" Sango asked.

"No," Kagome said, "it's just ramen."

Sango nodded, sitting. She wrapped her arms around her legs and tapped her feet on the ground. This was awkward—alone with Inuyasha and Kagome. Kagome busied herself straightening the bedrolls Shippou and Kirara had disrupted. Sango looked from her to the barely-visible hanyou in the tree. Was that really what had happened? Kagome offered herself to Inuyasha and he refused? That seemed so sad somehow. Even more depressing, could that be what had happened with her and Miroku as well? Did he want her only so long as she was saying no?

Sango rose suddenly and headed toward the hot spring. She had to catch him before he undressed to talk to him, to demand that he tell her what had happened to her ass to make it less enticing than it was a month ago. Forcefully kicking aside bushes and pushing branches away from her face, Sango made her way to the path, then stopped cold.

Down the slope, by the shoreline, Miroku was stepping out of the last of his clothes. He paused to scold Shippou, then entered the water.

Sango turned around immediately, and began heading back to camp, trying not to think of what she had just seen. His skin had been pale in the twilight as he had faced away from her. She had seen the muscles of his back flex as he pointed at the young cub, his arms sculpted, hard beauty. Then there was…. A hot blush warmed her cheeks and tried to stop the thought from coming, but it came anyway.

She had never given particular attention to men's backsides, but one glimpse of Miroku's was enough to change all that. It was fascinatingly fleshly and…touchable—a shameful thought as it made her realize she now vaguely understood why Miroku would want to squeeze that part of her. Still, she couldn't decide if it was beautiful or not, couldn't decide whether she liked it or not. It wasn't particularly handsome, just interesting. Her cheeks burned, her hands shook, and her stomach fluttered. And she felt something else, something she didn't wholly recognize, a twitching, stirring hot sensation beneath her stomach.

She walked back into the campsite and sat down on the log she had been using before, saying nothing to either Kagome or Inuyasha. Stiff and shy, she waited until Kagome called that the food was ready and the bathers returned.

Sango could hear Miroku talking pleasantly with Kagome, could hear him coaxing the hanyou out of his tree, but she did not look up. She was startled when she heard him say her name softly.

"Yes," she answered, glancing up at him too briefly to meet his eyes, her face glowing in embarrassment.

"I got a bowl for you as well." He was holding it out to her.

"Oh," she said stupidly, taking it from him, "thank you."

He sat beside her, causing her nerves to jump. This shouldn't have surprised her. He always sat next to her when they ate, and usually she enjoyed the proximity, but right now she'd rather he were fifty feet away.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded a little too vigorously.

"You just…seem a little tense."

"It's nothing," she managed between bites of noodles.

"I know what's wrong," Shippou volunteered.

"What?" Miroku asked, more for humoring the cub than any real expectation of finding an answer.

"You don't grab her butt enough anymore and she misses it."

Sango choked.

"Shippou-chan!" Kagome admonished.

"You shouldn't lie, squirt," Inuyasha said, his mouth full.

Shippou was offended. "I'm not lying. I heard her say it to Kagome while they were taking a bath."

Sango knew the expression on her face was giving her away, but ever kind Miroku, though clearly surprised, just changed the subject.


	2. Helping Hand

**Chapter Two:** Helping Hand

Miroku sat awake on the edge of camp, knowing his body was not going to simply settle and let him rest tonight. He sighed piteously, his staff leaning heavily against his shoulder.

Sango. She couldn't just let things be easy, could she? He was a decent guy—he was. But she was pushing him in a direction he knew he shouldn't go. He was trying to keep himself out of trouble, his hands untied, and losing his head with Sango would be permanent and final in a way that churned his gut.

He liked her—he really did, but this whole monogamy thing just seemed so…limiting. And that's what fucking Sango would mean. Not in his mind, obviously, but certainly in hers. Well, if he were honest, which was always a ludicrous thing to be in his opinion, that wasn't completely true. Sango was under his skin, burrowed in deep; there were times when he thought being faithful to her wouldn't be so bad.

In his experience, thinking of the women he tried to bed as reasoning, functioning beings was counterproductive. Whether this was reflective of his general taste in women or his overall asshole-ness, he wasn't completely sure, but it was a policy that came to him naturally and served him well. Sango wouldn't fit into that system, though a part of him stubbornly kept trying to squeeze her in. At first he wondered if it might be that she was a warrior, but that couldn't be it. He'd had a lot of experience in the past months with women who were tough fighters and most ran together into the beautiful, but unremarkable, slop that was his compiled memory of conquests, almost-conquests, and pretty girls he just passed on the street. He thought perhaps it was that he was traveling with her. A girl he saw every day, couldn't get away from, was a girl who would remain distinct. This theory made much more sense, considering his view of Kagome, the first girl he had ever respected. The unfortunate side-effect of spending extended periods of time with a girl seemed to be that she became a person. This was just fine with Kagome, who was so hung up on Inuyasha that Miroku never had a shot to begin with, but with Sango it meant that he'd grown a bit of a conscience. A conscience he couldn't seem to circumvent like his regular one. She also tended to spawn a contentment in him that made him want to get up and run. The idea of being faithful to Sango was not nearly so frightening as _wanting_ to be faithful to her.

Of course, all this thought of fidelity was asinine because he hadn't laid a hand on her—or he had, but hadn't gotten anything but Sango's handprint in his face for it. It hadn't escaped his attention that he'd been celibate since meeting her. It wasn't for a lack of trying on his part or a shortage of impressionable young girls willing to raise their skirts for him, but that he just seemed to have the worst luck. Every damn time. When he had told Mushin this, the older priest had laughed and suggested to Miroku that the universe was trying to tell him something. Load of crap, Miroku scoffed. But the dry spell was driving him crazy. Since he was thirteen he'd never gone so long without sex and he was on edge. It wasn't as though he didn't have self-control, he just didn't like exercising it. Actually, it pained him to admit it, but that control might not be as tight as he thought it was, or perhaps he was so used to indulging himself that he was out of practice in the art of restraint. Either way, he found himself steadily rationalizing bedding Sango. In desperation, he'd pulled back, hoping that less frequent contact would mean less frequent descents into perversion, but it was only working so well.

Things had been so simple before he had asked her to marry him. He hadn't actually thought she'd say yes, even though he knew that she had feelings for him—Sango was the kind of prideful and practical girl who would never consider marrying a man who would lie to her daily, never do any real work, and sneak around with other women whenever he thought he wouldn't get caught. Sango was the kind of girl who would demand, and get, nothing but complete devotion from the man she spent the rest of her life with. Or so he'd thought. He'd been so overjoyed when she said yes, thinking of bedding her, planting his seed in her, getting to call her his own, that he'd briefly forgotten the reciprocal of her owning him. He wouldn't deny it—well, he would to her (he didn't want to get stabbed again), but not to himself—he wanted out. There was something appealing and strangely joyful about the fantasy of marrying her, something that allowed her to tempt him in a way that no woman had before, he had to admit. But he also knew that she would never be happy taking him as he was, and that he would never change.

The conclusion was not touching her. If he was lucky, he would die before Naraku was defeated and he'd never have to tell Sango he didn't want to marry her. The conclusion also required his hard-on to go away.

He didn't doubt Shippou's words. The kitsune was always very calculated when it came to spilling the beans. There would have been no appeal in telling a lie because lies never created as much chaos as the truth and Shippou was just trying to shift the focus from Inuyasha and Kagome's constant tension. If there had been any doubt as to the assertion's authenticity, Sango's reaction would have quashed it.

Sweet fucking Buddha, she missed him groping her ass. He was already having problems not squeezing those cheeks every few minutes; this knowledge was going to make it near impossible. She had always reacted so adamantly against, so violently toward his sexual advances he had begun to think there was actually something to that hostility, that his lascivious touch was one form of attention she truly did not want from him. This new discovery had his mind digging up scenarios in which she found other groping not-so-repellant as well. It was taking every bit of his wavering restraint to not turn around and rip her blankets back to try out some of those ideas.

There was a soft female whimper behind him. He froze, ears perked and itching for sound. After two minutes, he was beginning to think he'd imagined it, was hearing things he wanted to hear in his horny fantasies, when it happened again. Slowly, he turned around in his seat on the log and looked at Sango.

She was facing away from the fire, half-way lying on her stomach, her brows furrowed and face twisted almost unpleasantly. For a moment he thought she might be having a nightmare, but she licked her lips before a soft moan escaped them, and if he had been standing he might have fallen over. There was no mistaking the meaning of that. She shifted restlessly under her blankets and he couldn't hold back a groan. She bit her lip softly and jerked her hips, unable to get the friction her body needed. Miroku sat fascinated, watching the perspiration appear out of her flushed skin, her chest rising and falling as her breathing increased.

"Please…" she suddenly whispered. "Please…houshi…–sama."

His erection surged and swelled even larger. He had been hoping she was dreaming about him, but nothing could touch the proof of hearing it from her lips. Compulsively, he answered her call, crawling across the ground to her side. Stopping over her sleeping form, he studied her tense, flushed face. He wanted to kiss her awake and take her, but that would put the shackle firmly around his ankle. Plus there was no real guarantee she wouldn't hit him and scream. Yet he had to touch her—he had to.

Miroku extended his trembling hand, and carefully lifted the hem of her blanket. Hardened nipples were pressed against the tightly drawn fabric of her yukata, the folds parted in her stirring and turning so that the tops of her breasts were visible. He swallowed and wickedly lifted his hand to commit one of the most perverted acts he had ever stooped to: fondling a girl while she was sleeping. He ran his palm over a soft orb, keeping his touch as light as he could manage to minimize the possibility of waking her. She arched slightly, pressing herself into his hand, and he shuddered. Unhurriedly, he massaged the tip of her nipple with the flat of his thumb, causing her to make a sharp but barely audible sound in her throat.

Her legs were moving edgily, thighs clenching and unclenching. The sight made him sweat. She wanted it, she wanted him—he could have her, take her right this moment and end his universe-imposed sentence of celibacy. He slid his hand down her body instead. Now was not the time to do something foolish. Miroku was a desperate, horny fool, but he was also a shrewd pragmatist and he vowed that he would not lose his head.

The warmth of her blankets closed over his fingers as his hand disappeared from his sight. He felt her erratic breathing as he passed over her stomach, caressing as much as he dared as he went. He didn't stop or even pause in moving lower. He was barely able to bite back a grunt as he cupped her mound, her heat scalding his skin and her wetness seeping and spreading through the fabric he had pressed into it.

He heard Sango whimper a soft sigh of contentment as her body found the pressure and friction it needed to get the release it sought. He didn't move his hand, just held it there. Anything else would have likely led to her waking up, would have disrupted her dream. Her body did all the work, rolling into his palm in waves. He pressed back each time her hips rose to his touch, paying particular force to the spot where he knew her sensitive nub lay.

Miroku looked at her face. She was quiet, but he could tell she was close. It would be a small orgasm, the kind following no foreplay, with minimal build-up. But it was an orgasm, and he was the one giving it to her. The knowledge was heady. As her release shook her, all thoughts went out of his head in favor of watching her sweet mouth part and choke a breath of excruciating bliss.

He forced himself to regain his composure as she grew calm. After her hips ceased the last of her tiny afterglow gyrations, he gently, carefully pulled his hand from her covers, doing his best to rearrange them as they were before he'd disturbed their position.

He drew back on his haunches, staring and her now calm form. Sweet hell, what had he just done? He tried to muster regret for it, but as perverse, as degenerate as it had been, he could not.

"I smelled that."

Miroku started, his heart nearly jumping from his chest. His eyes flew up to the tree where Inuyasha was perched lazily on a branch, back propped against the trunk. Of course, the houshi realized, with Inuyasha's animal senses and trained habit of sleeping light, there was no way he could have missed that. He would have to keep this fact about the hanyou logged away for later, in case he ever did want to conduct something sexual in secret.

"And heard it?"

"Feh, better than you did."

Miroku smiled wickedly. "And saw it?"

"Fuck no. Had my eyes closed the whole time."

"Of course you did."

"Damn right. And for your sake, I'll forget it happened as long as you never fucking do it again."

Miroku paled at the thought of a commitment to abstain. He went on the offensive instead. "As though you've never wanted to do that to Kagome."

Inuyasha growled. "Keep talking and you'll wake them all up."

"Admit it, you think of lifting that little skirt of hers all the time."

"Kirara is already awake, and Shippou's stirring. You know how he likes to drop secrets all over the fucking place."

Miroku turned to look behind him where Kirara was staring wide-eyed, a threatening glint flickering in those slitted orbs. She could smell her mistress's most intimate juices on him, he could tell. Flashes of being mauled to death by a giant cat made him gulp loudly. The vision was followed by that of Sango hacking him in half with her katana after hearing from a little kitsune what had happened to her while she was sleeping.

If Inuyasha and Kirara could smell Sango on him, then Shippou would be able to as well. Inuyasha had just sworn not to say anything and Kirara couldn't talk, for which Miroku was blissfully thankful. But Shippou…. Well, Inuyasha had said it all about Shippou. Miroku could picture the cub asking over breakfast, ever so innocently, why Miroku smelled like Sango in heat.

"I'm going down to the hot spring."

Inuyasha smirked, catching his train of thought. "Good idea." The hanyou shifted in the tree. "And hurry. I want to sleep and I can't if you're thrashing all over the damn place."

Miroku made his way down to the spring, mentally kicking himself. After years of seducing girls with their parents just a paper wall away, he'd grown jaded and saw privacy as of subjective importance. Most humans slept deeply enough that he and Sango could have rutted for hours without waking anyone if they were quiet. But his companions were not all humans and he'd been very forcefully reminded of that tonight.

Shucking his clothes on the bank, he stepped into the warm water. He sighed in relative relief. Now he could take care of his problem.

Years of seducing girls with their parents just a paper wall away had also given him ample experience being caught in the act, being on the receiving end of violent threats, and being chased from towns by villagers swinging farming implements. One thing he had learned: a little mortal danger was no reason to lose a perfectly good erection.

His hand reached down and grasped his jutting cock. He began to pump his hand up and down, pulling the skin pleasantly. She had been so wet she'd soaked the front of her yukata with her cream. He thought of the way her body had surged against his hand, the sounds of her fevered breathing in his ear. Thinking of how desperately she had begged, called for him, was enough for him coat his hand in his seed.

In the wake of his explosion, Miroku sighed. All his plans to be noble and spare Sango the mistreatment of being his woman, all his desperate schemes to keep himself free, they were crumbling before him now. He could hold out a little longer, but only a little. He knew no matter what kind of self-control he mustered, in the end, he was going to fuck Sango.


	3. Just a Kiss

**Chapter Three:** Just a Kiss

Sango awoke feeling groggy. Her sleep had been restless until well past the middle of the night, then it had been heavy. She remembered the dream that had plagued her, and she blushed in her bedroll. Apparently seeing Miroku naked had started her imagination going. The dream, she supposed, was probably rather tame, but that didn't stop the blood from rushing to her face and her body from nestling further into her covers. She had seen animals mating before, but she had always felt a detachment while watching—nothing in the act seemed appealing. When she felt her body aroused by a male presence, the thoughts that made her shiver were always slightly vague and certainly more romantic—visions of being kissed, her nude skin being caressed, being held tightly against a firm body. The thought of a man thrusting between her thighs was foreign and distant. Until last night. For whatever reason, Miroku's naked hips had made the act itself seem…exciting.

Her eyelids parted lazily and she looked around. She was alone, the camp half cleaned up and her companions missing.

"Kagome-sama snuck off this morning while Inuyasha was bathing at the hot spring."

Sango started and turned. Directly behind her, Miroku was sitting on a log. He looked tired and worn. He continued, "She said she had to study for a test she'd forgotten about and convinced Kirara to take her to the Well. Shippou wanted to go with her and wait with Kaede-sama for her to come back. Of course, when Inuyasha heard them leave he followed." Miroku yawned. "I estimate they'll be back by sundown—perhaps even midday."

Sango nodded.

He rose. "I'll heat the food Kagome-sama left for you," Miroku said, walking toward the pot hanging over the fire.

"That's all right," Sango whispered. She was feeling shy this morning and couldn't seem to look him in the eye or even speak normally. "I'll do it."

He gave her a fatigued smile. "But I'm already doing it."

"Didn't you sleep, houshi-sama?" she asked, taking in the red eyes he could barely keep open and the way he kept yawning.

"No," he answered, "but it appears fortune is kind for now. What with our companions' spat, I don't think we'll be traveling so I have today to rest."

Sango pushed the covers from herself and pulled on her sandals. "Here," she said, taking the handle of the stirring spoon from him, "I'll do this. You lie down." Her shyness was melting in the face of Miroku needing some mothering. "Have you eaten?" she asked him.

He was smiling at her. "No, but I'm not too hungry."

She filled a bowl for him anyway and pressed it into his hands. "Eat."

He stiffened a little as her fingers grazed his, beginning to pull back from her. Then he seemed to undergo a drastic shift in mood. He took the bowl with one hand and reached out to clasp her hand with the other. She watched as he set the bowl down next to the fire and turned his full attention to her. His gaze was hypnotic and his hand on her wrist was warm.

"Sango," he said, something in his voice immobilized any reflexes to pull back or resist, "would you give me permission to do something?"

"W-what?" she was back to whispering, only this time her voice was a bit breathy.

He leaned forward delicately, pulling her closer to him as well through some unseen but highly palpable force. "Would you…let me kiss you?"

Her eyes widened and she shook her head.

"One kiss," he coaxed, "one little kiss."

Involuntarily, her eyes drifted to his mouth.

"Just a kiss," he whispered, moving in slightly.

She licked her lips and felt herself nod.

His hand caressed the back of her neck, suggesting more than holding her head where he wanted it to be. Her eyelids fell closed and she shivered at the first touch of his lips. He brushed his mouth across hers lightly before pressing into the kiss. His lips were soft and warm, and they stroked hers sweetly at first, then grew more insistent.

Sango sat stiffly, a little too aware of what he was doing to enjoy it. There wasn't the instantaneous firework-like pleasure she'd always imagined. Still, it was pleasant. The fact that it wasn't as all-consuming and judgment-blurring as she'd expected made her less frightened of it and she began to relax. Which, she realized too late, was just what her desire was waiting for to pounce—letting go caused a wave of heat to wash over her and a gasp to catch in her throat.

Miroku seemed to feel the change and groaned, dragging his tongue evenly across her lips. Unconsciously, her tongue snaked out to taste the trail of moisture left behind. Miroku took advantage of her open mouth and deftly slid his tongue in after hers.

For a pulse of a moment, Sango froze again. _What_ was he doing? Then his tongue stroked hers and she couldn't hold back an aroused sigh. How could something as odd and invading as rubbing those two muscles together feel so good? It was so intimate it had her flushed with slight embarrassment as well as excitement, but it also had her leaning almost eagerly into him.

The houshi responded to her moving closer by transferring his free hand to her ribs. With it, he stroked her side, her breath hitching every time he grazed her breast. She should stop him, she knew that she should. But it had been so long since he had grabbed at her chest, so long since he had been forward in his sexual advances, and she…had wondered for a while exactly what it was he would do if she didn't push him away. Instead of pulling back the next time his palm approached the side of her breast, she turned her body slightly and pressed herself into his palm.

The effect on Miroku was instantaneous. A growl that sent a shock of heat between her legs rumbled into her mouth and he moved forward into her so aggressively, she found herself leaning backward. His hand squeezed her almost painfully once, but then he seemed to retrieve some of his control and his next caress was softer. He stroked and kneaded her swelling peak, paying particular care to rubbing her nipple through the fabric of her yukata with his thumb.

Sango was getting dizzy. The heat in her body was so intense her hands were shaking as though she had a fever, and the core of the heat had her shifting in her seat. It was so insistent and sharp, she was desperate to relieve some of the tension. When she first felt herself sinking, she fought it, then found that she didn't truly have the will to sit fully up again, so instead she eased backward, resting herself on the ground. Miroku followed her without missing a caress, releasing her neck so that she could lay her head down and moving his hand down her body to….

In the haze of his mouth blowing fire into hers and his other hand touching her in a way she never would have thought she'd allow, she lost track of it—that second hand. Strangely, she didn't mind, her own arms, no longer burdened with the task of holding herself up, snaking enthusiastically around his neck, holding him to her.

Vaguely she registered that her clothes were suddenly far less tight. An annoying part of her seemed to think that was bad, but the very loud part of her, the part she was inclined to agree with, knew that it was good. Her clothes had gotten too hot and restricting—they were in the way and the cool air that suddenly ran down the length of her entire body brought nothing but a sigh of relief.

Then Miroku did something she absolutely did not want. He broke their kiss and trailed his lips to her neck. She tried to pull his mouth back to hers, but he resisted, instead sucking at the exposed flesh at the base of her neck. Sango gasped, a tremor running from the skin beneath his mouth to the burning between her thighs. Her hips jerked spastically, grazing his. Miroku trembled above her and immediately lifted his mouth from the crook of her neck to her collarbone. He kissed her softly and wetly there before trailing a second kiss a little lower. And another, and another, until Sango registered through her intoxication that he had arrived at the summit of her neglected breast. The thought that it was a naked breast touched her brain briefly. That it shouldn't be was an idea that didn't seem to belong in her state of mind. So she threw it out.

He kissed the breast the way he had the skin leading up to it, then flicked the hardened tip with his wet tongue. Sango arched her body into him. That combined with the pressure from her hands on the back of his head pushed the receptive peak into his mouth. He knew what she wanted and suckled. Sango's mouth opened in surprise, no sound finding its way through her shock. Her breasts and her feminine core were so far from each other on her body that it had never occurred to her that they were deeply and directly connected. Now she knew.

Her legs parted instinctively, one thigh meeting the opposition of Miroku's body, but he moved out of her way—settling between her limbs instead of outside them. Which seemed to have an effect on him. Once again, he squeezed her breast too hard, and his mouth bit down barely on the nipple of the other. But this time, it felt good—intensely good. Her hips jerked again, rising against him, and this time her thigh brushed something long, hard, and very, very hot through his robes.

His mouth broke from her breast, panting. He closed his eyes and held rigidly still, as if he were trying to restrain himself. But Sango didn't want him restrained. She repeated her action, shifting this time so that it was her heat that dragged along his instead of her thigh.

He cried out piercingly, his hand shooting to her waist, slamming her hips to the ground and holding them there, away from his body. He fought to control his breath, her name fighting its way through his clenched teeth.

Sango couldn't help a whimper. "Houshi-sama…please." She didn't know what she was begging for, but she knew that he did and she knew that if she didn't get it, she was going to go crazy.

With a groan, he moved down her body, dragging his lips and nose across her skin, causing the muscles in her stomach to jump. Sango watched in confusion, moving restlessly in her desperation to be released from the heat that had gripped her whole body and settled into a blaze at the place Miroku's face hovered above now.

He took a deep breath, his expression one of rapture, as though he smelled a sweet perfume. Then he lowered his mouth and dragged his tongue over the most intimate part of her.

She jumped, both in shock of what he was doing and at the violent pleasure that it had caused. "Houshi-sama, w-what're you doing?"

"Kissing you," he answered throatily.

"Is it still the same kiss? You promised only one."

He didn't hesitate or flinch. "Of course."

Sango knew it was a lie, and a silly one at that, but she didn't care. If the first touch of his tongue was any indication as to what this bizarre act would be like, it felt too good for her to care. "Oh. So long as it's the same one," and with that, she was wholly complicit in his scheme.

He lowered his head again and, even though she was anticipating it this time, the extreme wave of pleasure shook her. He pulled the nub above her swollen lips into his mouth, rolling his tongue across it and sucking on it faintly. Her fingers pulled his hair and her nails dug into his scalp. Then he pulled back cruelly, licking above, below, all around, but not on that bud. She tried to buck her hips, but he still had them firmly in his grasp. She gave a tiny noise of frustration that became a sigh of bliss as he took it back in his mouth. He waited until she was writhing again before pulling back. Once more he teased her, taking his strong tongue everywhere but where she wanted him to. And again, he only resumed attention to her sensitive nub after she made noise, though it was another two rounds of the game before she realized this. The louder she was, the more attention he lavished where she needed it. So she moaned and whimpered and sighed, and he licked and sucked and licked.

She felt herself approaching a peak. The closer she came the more desperate she was to reach it. And then the heat in her boiled over, searing and sloshing through her every nerve. She cried out, gripping his head to her almost painfully.

Abruptly, her body sagged, all the tension floating out of her as she lay panting. A sheen of sweat suddenly felt cool on her skin.

Gently, Miroku pulled her fingers out of his tangled hair, and moved up to lie beside her, pulling her to him and holding her sated form. The torrent of the spate past, he calmly stoked the hair at her temple.

Gradually, Sango came to awareness. The full realization of what she had just done and what she had allowed be done to her crashed into her consciousness. She stiffened and immediately moved to sit up.

Miroku seemed to sense the change and let go, sitting up next to her.

Sango looked down at her exposed body, the parted yukata mocking her. She grabbed up her clothes and hugged them to her body, covering herself like an ashamed, over-modest child. Her hands were trembling again, but not with lust.

She turned to the houshi beside her, her eyes wide, somewhere on the spectrum of angry and scared and sick. "You…you lied."

In his eyes she could see regret. "I don't suppose you'd believe I lost my head, too?"

She stood. Her legs wobbled under her, but Miroku, who had also risen, caught and steadied her.

Sango pulled away from him as soon as she was certain she wouldn't fall. She stared down at her body. "I need a bath," she suddenly determined a course of action. Perhaps it was a frivolous thing to be worrying about first, but all she knew was that she couldn't stay and talk to him, as the expression on his face was clearly saying he wanted to do.

Miroku sighed, reaching down into her pack while she stood frozen and digging out her soap. "Here. Take a bath, and then we'll talk."

She swallowed and took the soap from him without answering. She turned and headed down the path to the hot spring.

Sango entered the water, clothes and all, and mechanically began washing herself.

She knew that she couldn't lay the blame for what had happened at Miroku's feet, however she might like to. He had been trying to bed her since they met with no success and she'd grown complacent. That perverted houshi may have been able to seduce girls in every village he'd ever visited, but not her—she was in control. Today Sango had learned something very powerful about each herself and the monk to whom she was bound. She had learned he had been holding back, that he'd never actually tried to get her into bed before, and she learned that all it took for him to convince her to do anything was one kiss. Just a little, stupid kiss. She was in trouble.


	4. Recreational Needs

**Chapter Four:** Recreational Needs

Miroku leaned against a tree on the outskirts of the clearing, facing away from the camp and away from the path to the hot spring. He had just found release and shot it into some bushes a few feet away. It hadn't taken him long in the state Sango had left him. He could tell from her wide, shaken eyes that he would not be touching her again for a while, and there was no way he was going to try to talk to her while his body was whining for attention. That conversation was going to be torturous enough as it was.

He was more than a little angry with himself. Why? Why had he used his cheap tricks on her? "One kiss…one little kiss…." He sighed, guessing that this meant Sango's naivety ran a little deeper than he'd thought. Had she any real sense of what he'd intended to do, she would have pushed him away and smacked him, as per her usual reaction.

No, he admitted to himself, he'd known she wouldn't stop him. She'd been vulnerable, more vulnerable than usual and something in him had jumped at the chance. Which made him the worst sort of rakehell, but that was hardly surprising and wasn't what was bothering him. So he'd seen a chink in her armor, did he have to treat her like a teahouse girl or a farmer's daughter and half-ass his seduction? Was there any real reason use the same line on her that he had used on a good twenty others? His lips twisted into a shadow of a scowl. Did his feelings for her really terrify him so much he had to push her down to the level of a casual encounter?

If so, his fear wasn't communicating with his conscience. Never, in all the years he had used that line, had he stumbled before the finish—never until today. She had been naked and open beneath him, outright begging him to take her, when nobility had reared its cursed, shining head. So he hadn't made her his as he had set out to do when he'd made his harmless little request. He had begun his task the lecher and ended it the decent, respectful martyr. Sort of. He didn't understand how, with Sango, he couldn't just be one or the other. This back and forth bullshit was getting him into trouble. Now he'd frightened her off, shattered her trust in him, and he didn't even have her virginity to show for it.

He thought of Sango's expression as she fled to the hot spring and his face softened. She had been so shocked, panicked when she realized just how exposed she was. If he had learned anything about this woman over the past months it was that she didn't like feeling defenseless. She would probably lash out at him. The fact that she had participated in her own seduction, facilitated his attempted deflowering would only make her anger more frenzied. He didn't want that, he wanted to comfort her—if she would let him. Which she may or may not, depending on how long she decided to seethe. Luckily, he was patient. He could wait until she finished and was ready to face him.

He felt the change in the wind before he saw it. A shift in the direction of the breeze, then a tight funnel of turbulence extending over the tops of the trees. Miroku had barely registered its presence before it swirled to a halt in the center of the camp.

Kouga.

"Where is Kagome?"

"South," Miroku answered, slightly bemused. "She headed there abruptly this morning."

Kouga sniffed the air. "With the fucking dog turd and the kitsune runt?"

Miroku nodded. He casually picked up his shakujou, which had been propped up against a tree next to him, not completely trusting this sudden appearance.

The wolf prince seemed to catch something on the wind, and crouched to investigate the ground by the fire more closely. "Giving you and that taiji-ya privacy," he rose to his feet. "Though your woman obviously didn't finish you off." He looked pointedly at the bushes to Miroku's left.

Had Miroku been anyone less jaded and composed than himself, he might have blushed, but it had been years since a mere sex act had made him embarrassed.

"I wouldn't put up with that shit," Kouga said, his statement casual and matter-of-fact. His eyes fell on a pack beside the fire and he began to rifle through its contents.

"Might I ask what brings you to our camp?" Miroku asked, trying to be as tactful as possible while Kouga withdrew three small bags of potato chips and a package of ramen from the pack.

"I have a message for Kagome," he moved to the southern edge of the camp and took a whiff of the air. "You sure she went this way, priest?"

Miroku nodded. "She may be difficult to track as she flew on Kirara."

The prince flashed the houshi a brief, slightly unsettling smile, and Miroku knew the challenge would only make the task more enjoyable.

His eye caught movement and he turned to see Sango approaching wearing the slayer's suit, her wet yukata draped over her arm. Her eyes flickered over Kouga, then shifted in askance to Miroku.

Kouga was gazing into the trees, shifting his stance in a way that looked both restless and methodical, as though he were planning his path. Abruptly, he handed two bags of potato chips to Miroku, saying, "For when they come." And with a sudden up-kick of dirt, as quickly as he had come, he was gone.

"What was—?" Sango began, but Miroku held up his hand, indicating with a tilt of his head that he heard something.

Seconds later Hakkaku and Ginta lumbered into the camp, panting.

Ginta opened his mouth to speak, but was wheezing too hard.

Miroku gave each a bag of chips as Sango pointed in the direction Kouga had gone. Nodding their thanks, the two royal retainers started immediately through the trees.

"Poor guys," Sango said sympathetically.

Miroku shrugged. "He goes slowly enough for them to follow."

"What did he want?" she asked.

"He said he had a message for Kagome."

Sango nodded, then sniggered as the full implication of this sunk in. "That's not fair," she said in the tail end of her laugher. "They'll already be fighting—even without him showing up."

The houshi agreed. "And when Inuyasha discovers…." Miroku trailed off suddenly, eyes going wide as he realized just whom he was talking to and what he'd almost revealed.

"Hmm?" Sango prompted absently, hanging her newly washed clothing on a tree branch where it could dry.

"Nothing important. Did you enjoy your bath?"

He saw her spine go rigid and her hands freeze in their careful straightening of wrinkles in the fabric.

Miroku knew the change in atmosphere this comment would bring, but also wanted to get the conversation over with. The momentary shock of Kouga's appearance had distracted her, curiosity briefly obliterating her anger and embarrassment. He could have seen how long he could make the peace last, but with Sango, it was better to charge out—with any luck, she'd vent too harshly or attack him and feel compelled to apologize later.

But she didn't turn around. The silence stretched between them and Miroku swallowed. This was bad.

"Sango…?" he ventured uncertainly.

She took a deep breath that shook her whole frame, then faced him. Her expression was not what Miroku had been bracing himself for. She looked a little sad, a little weary, and nervous—so nervous her hands were shaking. "Can we sit?" she asked.

"Of course," he sat on the log behind him a little heavier than he'd intended in his half-stunned state. He was further surprised when Sango sat next to him rather than across from him. Was this a sign that she wasn't mad after all?—Or was she just getting in a position to strike? His hands tightened instinctively on the shakujou. If she attacked he was going to need to be ready—the incident at the village of oni women had taught him that Sango could kick his ass quite easily.

She was looking at the ground, almost as if she was gathering the courage to meet his eyes. "Houshi-sama…" she got off to an uncertain start, then suddenly plowed on, "houshi-sama, I'm sorry."

Miroku nearly dropped his weapon.

"Y-you asked me to be your woman, I said yes. Then today, when you took what I'd agreed to give you, I got angry." She swallowed, still not looking at him, "I haven't changed my mind—I still want to give you a child, it's just not what I'd expected—and you could have given me more warning," she said the last angrily.

That was all he could take. He started laughing.

Her head jerked up to look at him, eyes flashing at his mirth over something that was clearly giving her stress.

"Sango, I didn't even come close to taking you. If you find yourself with child after what happened today, I'll be mightily surprised."

"I know that," she snapped. "But I knew when I agreed to be yours that you wouldn't just want to…" she blushed heavily, "do those sorts of things just in making a child. I-I knew you were the type of man my mother warned against—the type who likes to…recreationally."

He was laughing again. "Naïve Sango, all men like to recreationally. It's my revulsion for all things dishonest that leads me not to conceal my wants."

"Or perhaps your love of recreation is much greater than the average man's," she returned sourly.

Miroku considered. "You may be right." He took her hand in his own, "But I thought the agreement was to wait till after Naraku was dead."

She looked down at their entwined fingers, cheeks pink. "I thought perhaps that you had changed your mind."

Miroku sighed. "I nearly did. But then I recalled our arrangement." Actually, he'd only just remembered the exact terms of their engagement.

"So…that's why you stopped?"

_No, not really._ "Yes, of course." He'd rather not tell her that it had more to do with keeping his options open than respecting a contract he'd never really intended to follow in the first place, not now when he was touching her and she wasn't hitting him.

Sango nodded. "Thank you, but I actually wanted to talk to you about that arrangement."

"Did you?" Miroku's insides were beginning to squirm in outright panic. He didn't know which he was dreading more, the prospect that she was going to ask to speed things up, or the possibility that she would end them completely. Of course, different parts of him were screaming for wanting those very things, too.

"I was thinking that maybe we should stop—" she broke off abruptly as she saw something behind him, her eyes going wide.

He whipped around to see what was happening, only to be scooped up by the scruff of his neck, a sleeve of a red haori grazing his face.

Miroku was dragged into the forest a good a quarter of a mile before he was slammed against the bark of trunk and held there by a callused, clawed hand squeezing his neck.

"Inuyasha…you're back," Miroku said calmly, though he was sweating.

The hanyou's face was contorted chillingly. "Kagome tells me that she didn't have a fucking test. She says that she was sent on an urgent errand, not south to Kaede-babaa, but east to Mushin-jijii, because you're dying."

Miroku furrowed his brows. "I surely hope not. I wonder where Kagome-sama would get such an idea."

"I don't," Inuyasha snarled. "Apparently, you were so fucking close to death that you insisted she leave immediately, swearing that you'd explain to me."

"Well, I did have a bit of a scare. Luckily, I've recovered."

Inuyasha's claws flashed on his free hand. "I can get you back within pissing distance, you bastard. Then Kagome can get that damn priest for real."

"Oh," said Miroku, his voice quavering a bit, "you don't want to do that."

"Why the fuck not?"

"It would only slow travel down to have a heavily injured party member," Miroku reasoned. "Aren't we in a hurry?" he asked hopefully.

"Inuyasha! Put him down."

Both young men looked in the direction of the command and saw Kagome dismounting Kirara, Shippou following suit. Coming up behind them at a run was Sango.

"Inuyasha," Kagome said, soothingly this time, "put him down."

"This bastard lied about dying so that he could have time alone to bone Sango," Inuyasha bared his teeth.

"I know that. Let go."

Miroku felt Inuyasha's grip reluctantly leave his throat, and his own hand quickly moved to massage the sore muscles. He straightened just in time for a sharp sting to thwack the side of his face. It was one shock too many for his system and he slid down to sit at the base of the tree, black and white spots dancing over his vision.

Kagome stepped back, satisfied that her handprint hand made its mark sufficiently. "You made me worry, Miroku-sama. Please, do not speak to me for a while." She stepped toward Inuyasha, taking his hand in hers and pulling him behind her as she headed back to camp. "Come on, Shippou-chan, let's have some lunch."

Miroku looked at Sango, who indicated with an inclination of her head for Kirara to follow after the others.

When they were alone, Miroku opened his mouth to explain.

"Please," Sango said, "no more today. I'm exhausted."

The houshi studied her. "You're not mad?"

"Not really," she said. "Nothing you do surprises me anymore, and, like I said, I'm exhausted. Maybe I'll be angry tomorrow."

Miroku smiled at her. "I'll be ready."

She pulled him to his feet and led him back to camp.

He had to sit apart from the group as they ate, an outcast, but he was more content than any of them could know. Half his plan had worked out exactly as he had hoped; united against him, Inuyasha and Kagome had forgotten their differences and were back to normal, Kagome even settling right close to Inuyasha during the meal.

As for the second half…. At least Sango wasn't angry with him. Right then anyway. He was going to need to get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.


	5. Fiancée and Catfish

**A/N:** The first section of this chapter comes from parts 343-345 of vol. 35 of the _Inuyasha_ manga. Though I have altered character dialogue and plot somewhat to adapt the story to this medium and this fiction, it is not mine but Rumiko Takahashi's.

**Chapter Five:** Fiancée and Catfish

Kagome shivered, moving closer to the fire. "It's cold."

Shippou glanced at the building a few yards away. "Why is Miroku the only one inside the house?"

Sango was staring at the ground, arms wrapped around her knees. Another town, another one of Miroku's former flames coming to light. This one was a daughter of a town head named Shima. The stupid girl was ecstatic to see the houshi and wanted to be married immediately—of course that might have something to do with a catfish youkai demanding her hand in marriage, threatening to destroy the town if she didn't comply.

The taiji-ya sighed. One would think that after all the times their group had stumbled across one of Miroku's girls, she'd be used to it by now. Yet, it still managed to come as a shock every time. He was nineteen, for crying out loud—how many could there be?

He was currently inside the girl's residence, negotiating. Sango didn't want to think about it but, the cruelty of her companions proven, such was the topic of conversation.

"I don't know," Kagome answered Shippou. "He said he wanted to discuss things."

"Will he refuse to marry her?" The kitsune tossed a twig into the fire.

"Well, he should," Kagome said with feeling. It was clear she still hadn't completely forgiven Miroku for sending her to Mushin. "Miroku-sama did promise to marry Sango-chan, after all."

Inuyasha was standing at the edge of the firelight, eyes fixed on the lake where the youkai threatening Shima was currently hiding. "But can you trust him? Really, it's Miroku. Besides, did you see that girl? 'Shame on a man who does not eat the meal set before him,'" he quoted the axiom.

Kagome's eyes sparked. "Inuyasha, osuwari!"

The hanyou crashed to the dirt with an "oof!" of surprise. He rose, eyes murderous, with the intention of shouting at Kagome but, seeing her icy stare, seemed to remember why that comment would have offended her. He gave a noise between a "humph" and a growl, and went back to his self-appointed duty of watching the lake.

Shippou was looking up at Sango's dark expression. "Are you angry, Sango?"

"No," she answered.

"Really? Even if Miroku marries this girl like he—"

"I said no!" she gritted through clenched teeth, the flames reflected in her eyes causing the kitsune to jump back.

There was a sudden thud, followed by a great rumbling that shook the ground. Kagome dropped the piece of candy she had been digging out of her pack to comfort a traumatized Shippou, while the cub grabbed onto her arm to steady himself.

Inuyasha brandished his claws eagerly. "Heh, something that reeks of fish is coming closer," he bared his fangs. "Looks like this bastard 'Nushi-sama of the Lake' is finally making his appearance."

The ground ripped in a straight path to the house, as the youkai burrowed his way just beneath the surface. Miroku, the girl Shima, and her parents had just emerged, the family standing in a huddled bunch, fear evident in their faces. There was a burst of dirt in all directions, and the group braced themselves.

When the dust had settled, there stood what looked like a little fish-faced man, somewhat taller than Shippou. He wore stylish clothes in rich fabrics, a cart dragging behind him full of presents for his bride-to-be.

The tiny man smiled broadly in his excitement. "I am Nushi-sama of the Lake. As promised, I have come for Shima-dono."

"Is that really him?" Inuyasha asked, slightly incredulous.

"He says he is," Kagome replied faintly.

Inuyasha strode forward, stopped before this Nushi-sama, and smacked him upside the head. "Go home," he barked.

The little youkai looked up at Inuyasha, stunned. "Why are you in the way?"

"Because the girl doesn't want you." He glared down at the fish, and the fish glared right back.

Everyone else watched the display in disbelief. Shima stepped into Miroku's arms, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm so frightened," she said.

Sango snorted angrily. "How can you be scared of that?"

She didn't know what disgusted her more, the girl's apparent fear of this twerp of a youkai, or the fact that she was nestling into Miroku's arms as though he could possibly defend her effectively with a ninety-pound weight around his neck.

"See," Inuyasha gestured to Shima. "Now go."

"B-but," stuttered the youkai, "you promised."

The girl in Miroku's arms whipped her head around. "I did no such thing."

Shima's father, however, stepped forward. "I'm sorry, Nushi-sama," he said.

Shima was a little wide-eyed. "Father?"

He looked at her. "Years ago, when you were sick and Miroku-sama came to town, he gave me herbs to boil in water for you to drink. I did that every day, and I made a vow at Nushi-sama's shrine—but I never thought he was listening. I said that if he healed you, he could have whatever he wanted."

Miroku nodded in comprehension. "So there was indeed a promise."

Shima let go of Miroku, stepping forward toward the catfish. "I-I never knew father made such a vow. I must honor his word."

Nushi-sama's eyes lit up, "So you will marry me."

"I would," Shima continued, "but I heard that you wanted a pure wife." She swallowed nervously. "I am not chaste, for two years ago I…joined with Miroku-sama."

There was a stunned silence.

"Is this true, Shima?" her father asked shaken.

She hung her head, "I'm so sorry, father. I just couldn't bring myself to tell you."

Inuyasha crossed his arms. "Figures." Kagome glared and elbowed him sharply.

Miroku looked at Sango anxiously.

"It's okay," Sango said in a tight sort of voice which let him know that it was anything but okay.

The miniature youkai was pointing a shaking finger at Shima. "Y-you deceived me! You're beauty and wholesome appearance only makes my hatred a hundred times worse."

Sango laughed, and everyone glared at her. She couldn't help it; this little youkai was ridiculous, and she'd spent her entire life fighting bigger, much more powerful things. It was difficult to take him seriously.

He began to swell and expand, rising above the ground in a dark cloud. He reemerged as a giant catfish doing its best to look menacing. Sango rolled her eyes.

Shima squeaked. "Miroku-sama, save us," she begged, clasping his arm.

The houshi disentangled himself. "I understand; I shall calm him down. Sango," he called, "let's go."

Sango was still trying to contain her amusement, and she hadn't forgotten her annoyance. "This is your mess. Clean it up yourself."

Seeming to forget the youkai completely, Miroku moved to her side. "Sango, can we talk about this?" He dropped his voice low, "This girl means nothing to me—I never intended to go through with the marriage."

"Do you ever?"

"What?"

"Are you planning on actually marrying me?" she demanded.

Miroku sputtered for a moment. "Is now really the time to have _that_ conversation?"

Sango glared at him and resisted the urge to draw her katana and give him a stab wound to match the one from a couple months ago. "Don't come near me," she started walking away.

Sango marched past Inuyasha, who was still having fun with Shima's fiancé.

"How dare you make fun of me!" it shouted.

"You don't fucking scare me, small-fry." Inuyasha gave a swipe of claws across the fish's face, and the youkai fell to the ground.

Nushi-sama lay there a moment before reverting to the form in which he'd first appeared. He sat and cried, bemoaning the "lost purity" of his Shima-dono.

But Sango wasn't really interested in all that.

"Won't you talk to me at all?" Miroku asked.

Sango didn't stop.

"Wrap it up, will you," Inuyasha snapped impatiently at Miroku. Then he called after Sango, "It's not like Miroku's bad habits with women started yesterday."

Sango felt a bit foolish—foolish for showing her jealousy, and foolish for being even the faintest bit shocked at what had happened today.

Shima stepped forward. "Please, don't be angry at Miroku-sama," she called out. "It's my fault."

The last thing Sango needed to hear was one of Miroku's silly women make excuses for him, so she sped up. Hearing that Miroku was going to come after her, she snapped, "Don't follow!"

She walked around the lake, stopping at the other side. She could still see the others, but not clearly. She sighed and sat on a rock. Kirara rubbed her face against Sango's calf comfortingly, then settled beside her.

That idiot. He hadn't even followed her. She had done everything she could to keep her emotions under control for the past two days since Miroku had seduced her by the fire. It had taken its toll, and she didn't think she could hold it in anymore.

She didn't have time to wallow, however. A scream rent the air and she looked up to see Shima being dragged into the lake by the catfish youkai, who had, evidently, changed his mind about wanting her.

Sango stood. "Come on, Kirara," she said. One of Miroku's pathetic floozies or not, the girl didn't deserve this fate. _And, after all, shouldn't Miroku's pathetic floozies stick together?_ she thought bitterly.

Mounting Kirara and soaring over the lake, she let Hiraikotsu fly at the youkai and the boomerang hit him mightily on the side of the head. She reached down, grasped a sinking Shima's arm, and hauled her out of the water.

The girl sputtered, spitting out water. "You…" she said, slightly bemused.

This wasn't the time or place and Sango was not a patient person. "Just throw your leg up over so I can let go of you."

But right when she had the girl settled comfortably in front of her, Sango felt something clasp her ankle and pull her from Kirara. She fell a few feet before being caught painfully by the catfish.

Kirara paused in midair, contemplating rescue.

"Go!" Sango yelled. "Get her to safety." She looked at the monster that had her. He stared back furiously.

"How about I get you instead, huh?" he bit out. "Since you cost me my wife, I may just keep you as my mistress."

Sango was struggling in his grasp, trying to reach her katana, when she heard a maniacal cry.

The fish's face was suddenly covered in Buddhist charms. He turned in the direction of the attack just in time to have a staff come down right between his eyes.

Sango blinked, gaping at Miroku. He was wet, his face red with fury. There was nothing calm or restrained about him as he hit the youkai with his staff repeatedly. "You bastard! What did you say, eh? You shit—taking my woman, are you?"

The catfish, beaten and bleeding, probably more than a little punch-drunk, gawked at Miroku fearfully. "Sh-she was your woman, too? I'm s-so sorry," he slurred just before he lost consciousness.

Even though he was out, Miroku whacked him again for good measure. "Sango, are you all right?" he asked.

Sango looked away, and began swimming for the shore. She hadn't processed what had just happened well enough to react to it. She swam by Inuyasha, who was yelling at Miroku.

"Damn it! You didn't leave anything for me at all."

Sango trudged out of the water, giving her arms a shake and wiping wet bangs out of her eyes.

Timidly, Shima came forward with a blanket. "Thank you for saving me," she whispered.

Sango took the blanket silently, not trusting herself to speak to this girl.

"I'm sorry," Shima said. "I'm sorry I lied."

"About what?" Kagome asked.

"I-I never joined with Miroku-sama. I just didn't want to marry Nushi-sama."

Sango paused a moment for this to sink in. "If this is true…" she looked at Miroku. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Miroku sighed. "I took advantage of your kindness that you'd understand without my telling you."

"Houshi-sama…."

"It's been a bad habit of mine for a long time," he continued, taking one of her hands in his own. "I'm sorry I gave you a bad memory."

"It's all right. Besides," she paused, blushing and laughing in relief, "when you saved me, that was very funny. And sweet."

Shippou was looking up at the couple. "It still would have been better to deny it from the beginning."

Miroku shrugged.

An idea seemed to occur to the kitsune cub. "Or could it be that you didn't remember yourself—that you had this girl mixed up with another one?"

Miroku froze.

Sango saw the panic in his eyes and knew that Shippou had been dead-on. Her emotional state went from soaring, to falling flat in the space of a few moments. She pulled her hand from Miroku's.

She saw that everyone was staring at her, including the family of stupid people who let a charlatan like Miroku stay with them and made deals with youkai. She wasn't up to dealing with this shit. So she started walking again. Miroku called after her, but didn't follow. She was actually relieved at this because, perversely, she found herself crying and she didn't want him to see.

She went back to the rock she had been sitting on before. She was watching the sun set when she heard someone approach.

"Are you okay?" she heard Kagome's voice.

"You are lucky, Kagome-chan."

"How so?"

"You have only Kikyou-sama to compete with."

"And you think that makes me lucky?" Kagome's voice had gone a little stiff.

Sango looked at her friend. "At least you know what you're fighting. When you sense he's thinking about someone else, you know who it is."

Kagome shook her head. "There's still no comparison. Miroku-sama loves you and only you."

Sango felt a weighty sadness moving in her. "I wish I could believe that were true."

"What _do_ you believe? You can't possibly think I'm in a better situation than you are."

She smiled wanly, "You love a man who loves two women. I love a man who loves all women."

"But you're special," Kagome insisted. "You mean so much more to him than the others."

Sango nodded, she understood this. "One on one I could take any of them, but collectively they pack a powerful punch. I can't guard against that. There is nothing I can give him that he hasn't gotten somewhere else already—or won't get in the future."

Kagome sat next to her. "Is this what you were thinking about, when I came up just now?"

"No," Sango answered. "That's an old thought. I…was actually thinking about my mother, my father, what they would think of my being in love with…him. I think they'd be very surprised—I know I am. He's not at all the man I pictured for myself. He's certainly not the man they would have wanted for me." She paused. "Did I ever tell you that I was betrothed?"

Kagome shook her head.

"There was a boy in my village, Kanaye-kun. He wasn't as beautiful as the houshi, or nearly as intelligent, but he was honest and loyal. He thought that I was the prettiest girl in the village—he asked my father for me when he was nine years old. We were going to be married this coming winter."

"What happened?"

"Kohak—" Sango stopped. "Naraku killed him."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"It's all right, I've grieved. And I could never really tell whether or not I loved him—I always felt guilty for that. What I've been thinking about is how foolish I am. Kanaye-kun was taken from me so quickly, so was my family, my home. I want stability, permanence, safety when this is all over. I want someone who can stay with me, live with me till I'm old. And yet I've fallen in love with a nomadic, womanizing con-artist with a curse that gives him less than a year to live."

"He won't die," Kagome's voice was adamant. "We'll break that curse."

Sango found herself smiling at her friend. "Of course we will. _I_ will, if it's the last thing I do." She held Kirara a little tighter. "Even so, we risk our lives every day. It might not be the curse that takes him. But that's not what I was thinking about either."

Sango took a deep breath before she confessed. "There will always be other girls, in his head, in his life, that's what I realized today. They will always be there, but they have nothing to do with me and they are nothing like me. Girls like Shima-dono can afford giving themselves to him and they can afford losing him, because they have so much to fall back on. But me, what's worse for me?—never knowing what it is to be his, or losing him, either to another woman or to death, when so much has already been taken from me? That's what I'm wondering: which loss won't break me?"

Kagome sat quietly for a moment, then said, "I think you already know."

Sango smirked. "Do you?"

Her friend nodded. "You're just working up the courage to go to him."

"I think you're right."


	6. Sango's Request

**Chapter Six:** Sango's Request

Mushin used to say that rain was therapeutic, for the earth and for living things, and the slapping of rain against the roof was the only sound that didn't make the old man snarl after an all-night drinking binge. Miroku had to admit, there was something to this philosophy. It didn't soothe his conscience or his worries, it didn't offer answers to his problems, but it was calming. The clean smell cleared his head and made meditation easier, left him with the illusion of solitude though the rooms on either side were occupied. He sat in front of the open sliding door, a shaded veranda between him and the ground that was fast becoming muddy. He had meditated all day, trying to center himself, order his thoughts. The dilemma of Sango was growing more difficult. He did not like the reality, but he was going to have to make a decision soon.

She was special to him, he knew that. He felt more friendship and trust for her than he had for any other woman. She was a comrade in arms, an equal, and an ally. He had assumed this meant that romantic love was out of the question. But the craving for her was too great and persistent. And now he'd developed a feeling he'd never had for a woman before: possessiveness.

Countless girls in countless villages had given themselves to him, promised themselves to his hand. When they moved on and married other men, he felt nothing but relief. But two days ago, when that slimy catfish had tried to take Sango, Miroku had utterly snapped. Besides eliciting the shouting of words such as "bastard" and "shit" which he generally liked to keep for moments of quiet reflection only, the attempted abduction had also led to the declaration that Sango was his woman.

Never in the past six years of his association with the fairer sex had Miroku declared any one of them to be his own. Jealousy was an enfeebling and binding emotion that distracted one from far more important and productive endeavors. Like seducing other women. But all that noble posturing was immaterial now; the disease was inside him, living, breeding, and spreading.

Which brought him to the matter at hand—whether or not to take Sango. Miroku was not Inuyasha, who could in good conscience advertise a blooming beauty as his own, chase off and challenge her suitors, feel indignation and betrayal when she paid attention to other men, yet never consummate the relationship. Miroku refused to stake a claim and neglect to build a house. There was no gray area—Sango was his woman, or she was not.

It was easier to just think about the rain.

But then, she appeared—tainting the peace of the rain by standing in it. She held a pink umbrella Kagome had brought through the Well over her head as she picked her way through the mud daintily, and Miroku smiled. This girl…she could slay all manner of youkai without batting an eye, lug a boomerang as long as she was tall over her shoulder for miles, take wound after life-threatening wound, and she still managed to worry over a little wet dirt.

He knew that she was coming to talk to him. There was a moment of indecision, but it quickly dissolved; he would follow her lead. Whatever she needed or chose, he would agree. Perhaps there was something cowardly and evasive in that, but Miroku didn't much mind—when it came to women, cowardice and evasion were acceptable, even sometimes necessary, tools of survival. He had no idea what he wanted anymore. Strange feelings and longings were twisting the facts in his head—it was entirely likely she could see their situation more clearly than he could. Her face was visible now, and it had a determined set to it. That was promising. Besides, if she chose something he found he couldn't bear, he wouldn't have to live with the agony of her moving on or the loss of his freedom long. He had maybe a year of life left—less if Naraku got lucky.

"Good evening, Sango," he greeted as she hopped gracefully onto the veranda.

Her smile was demure and nervous, but genuine. "Houshi-sama," she inclined her head as she lowered the umbrella. "May we speak?" she paused blushing. "In your room?"

Miroku swallowed heavily. His pulse began to race. "If you wish," he answered calmly, rising to his feet and stepping aside so that she could enter.

Closing the sliding door quietly, he turned to face her. Outside, under the umbrella she'd been nervous, yes, but there was also buoyancy and eagerness. Here in the muted dark enclosure of his room her hands were clasped tightly, and the reflection of the gray-blue light painted her face deathly pale. She was having some very sudden second thoughts, he could hear it in her every unsteady breath.

"What do you wish to discuss?" he inquired mildly. He knew it made him a bastard, but he wasn't going to let this be easy for her.

Giving herself to a man before marriage was always a nasty proposition for a girl, as it left her ruined. Normally he felt only the barest twinges of guilt finagling silly virgins out of their clothes. They were simple, easily romanticized and excited—if not him, then surely some other dashing and worldly traveler. But this was different. Sango was not in his room tonight because he'd rescued her village from a rampaging monster, or because his miraculous powers of healing had saved her mother, or even because he was handsome and rakishly charming and had stolen a kiss at the water well. For some ungodly and unjustifiable reason he couldn't work out, she was there because of _him_. Well, he washed his hands of it. If she wanted to lose herself to him tonight, if she wanted to give herself to a philandering conman, she would have to ask.

After the longest stretch of silence sufferable, she cleared her throat delicately. "Houshi-sama, we have been betrothed for a few months now."

"Yes," he agreed placidly when she paused.

"O-our union—we-we nearly consummated…." she stopped.

He looked at her, smiling kindly.

Sango swallowed. "That day by the fire when we…kissed?" her voice was a little steadier.

He nodded.

"Make me feel like that again."

All the sound drained from the room. Had Miroku been holding anything, he would have dropped it. He would have bet all the gold he had lifted from their host's temple that Sango would never be able to make such a request. Her voice still trembled audibly, but it was shot through with unreserved longing. Well…that was close enough.

A stride and a half and she was in his arms, and she gasped into his lips. Against his better nature, he had been growing hard since she entered his room. He couldn't stop himself from grasping her brilliantly firm backside and pressing that stiff length into her. Her body jumped. He wanted to be very clear.

Pulling back from the kiss, he looked down at Sango's dazed eyes and flushed cheeks. "This is not going to just be a kiss like last time," he told her evenly, plainly. "I'm going to make love to you. Do you understand that?"

She bit her lower lip while nodding, distractedly staring at his mouth. "Keep going," her voice was so tiny.

He groaned and promptly obeyed. One hand lingered ecstatically on an exquisite buttock, at last able to touch and fondle as it wished: without interruption or repercussion. The other traveled up to caress the side of her face as he plundered her mouth. His patience and delicacy were gone, but not his finesse—it was a hard, unrelenting kiss, but he also knew it was a good one.

His fingers slid into her hair, and he stroked the glossy strands down her back, grasping the bow of her loose ponytail.

"Not," she broke the kiss, "…not unless you take yours out, too."

He was surprised by the request. "But my Order…" Miroku stopped, considering.

There was _nothing_ going on in this room his Order would approve of (well, maybe the prayer incense burning in the corner). What difference would this make? It was an odd demand, but it was easily indulged. Reaching up behind him, he unbound his hair. He spared a moment to let a wide-eyed Sango thread her fingers through his locks, but it was impatiently. His restraint had been tested and tested over the past two weeks, and had finally snapped when she'd breathily asked him to give her an orgasm.

He pulled at the belt of her yukata and watched as the fabric swung open, parting like a curtain. Sango shivered involuntarily, but didn't stop him as he pushed the garment off her shoulders and to the floor.

Usually her formfitting slayer's suit lay beneath, but not this time. Delicate, proud shoulders were thrown back stiffly under his gaze. Her nervous toes curled in her sandals below beautifully bare legs. The line of her pliant thighs accented at her hips and tapered at her waist. Her hard stomach drew his hand, and the soft tangle of curls concealing her femininity his eyes. The only covering that remained was her breast bindings.

Miroku could feel her taut belly tremble beneath his palm as he moved his hand up to grasp the knot of the bindings. He wanted to rip the strips of cloth from her skin, but she was so skittish and he didn't want to scare her off. As it was, her lips were trembling apprehensively—so he kissed them. He teased and nibbled her lower lip, then pulled her tongue into his mouth. He used every trick in his repertoire to keep her mind off what he was doing with his stealthy hands. He may have succeeded a bit too thoroughly, for when the kiss ended and her eyes floated open she was clearly taken aback to see the fabric of her binding bundled in his hand, and dropped to the floor.

She wasn't the only one shaken. To his mild surprise, the sight of her naked breasts affected him more than he would have thought possible. It wasn't as though he'd never seen or touched them before. He'd even had them in his mouth. But this….

Perhaps it was that Sango had come to him this time, not the other way around. His misdirections, his coaxings and his cons, they were all fake. His charm was fake. But it had won him something real. With her exposed breasts, Sango's tangibility shot down his throat, making it painful to breathe, and shocked through his engorged cock. If he didn't get himself inside her soon, he was going to explode.

Panting heavily now, he reached for the stays of his own garments. He refused to take her clothed like some simpering nobleman. His fingers moved over the knots deftly, but he paused when a second set of hands joined his.

Miroku looked up at Sango, not quite able to keep his smugness at her impatience out of his grin. He saw her gaze harden in reaction and her hands began to pull back, but he caught them in his and placed them back here they were.

"If you wish to undress me, Sango, I will not struggle."

Her eyes narrowed at the challenge in his tone and she took the bait, pulling the robes from his body as swiftly as her inexperienced and trembling hands could manage.

When he stood before her nude, she stopped abruptly, as though it were just occurring to her what removing his clothes would mean. He watched her face as her eyes moved down his body in rapt fascination. His chest and arms drew their share of attention, and his swollen length made her cheeks glow. Still, he waited to pull her to him. Miroku didn't think he'd be able to recover if she ran scared now.

Then, unexpectedly, she stepped forward and touched him experimentally. Her cold fingers trailed his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles and sensitive nipples. He drew in a strained breath, closing his eyes against the desire he saw darkening her eyes. She leaned closer and he felt the tip of his distended cock brush her delicate bellybutton, the slight touch bringing generous drops of pre-come. Miroku shuddered bodily and growled low in his throat.

In one unannounced movement, he scooped Sango into his arms and carried her to his palette in the corner. She gasped against his shoulder and clung to him until he lowered her onto the soft blankets, and himself beside her. He took her mouth in a demanding kiss, expressing the urgency and intensity of his lust. She seemed to respond to that, her thighs falling open and her hips moving in shameless invitation.

He slid his hand down her body to caress her aching core. Using a technique he'd discovered and perfected as a result of their never-ending wear, he dragged the rosary that crossed his palm against her swollen clitoris. Sango made a harsh carnal sound in his mouth, but he wouldn't let her pull away from the kiss. The glassy-wet texture of the beads fondled her nub deliciously, soaking his skin and the cloth beneath the string in her wanton juices. She humped his hand in abandon as he carefully moved his body between her legs. The arm he was using to prop himself up trembled at the thought that he was finally going to take her—his Sango. However, there was one last disclaimer he had to offer her.

He forced himself to pull back from the kiss. "Sango," he panted, "you do know that it hurts for most girls the first time, don't you?"

She looked up at him with swollen, wet lips and heavy-lidded eyes, nodding.

Miroku stared into those eyes for a long moment before proceeding. The acceptance, the trust there solidified the magnitude of the moment. Reverently, he parted the folds of her sweet, scorching center. He eased his near-bursting length to her entrance and began to push.

Full bodily, he shuddered atop her. Sweet Buddha, was every girl this hot inside? This slick with fevered cream? Surely not—he would've remembered. He pressed in slowly, feeding her inch after inch, until he was sheathed fully to the hilt. He heard her make a soft, breathy "_ohh_" sound in his ear and his fist clenched the blanket. Her barrier had been nearly nonexistent, but still, he had to ask if she was in pain. He swallowed and opened his mouth, but words failed him as her impatient hips bucked up against his.

Clenching his teeth, he grunted and thrust back. The rhythm of sex seemed to come naturally to her as she rose to meet him beat for beat. All thoughts of being gentle with her because she was a virgin went out of his head as he crashed into her clenching tunnel harder with every stoke. She bit her lower lip and her nails raked his back roughly but absently. He couldn't tear his gaze from her face. Her eyes were closed and wet with tears of pleasure, her cheeks flushed red with lust and exertion. He could feel her climbing higher and higher with him, whimpering noises rising from deep in her throat.

Suddenly, her nails dug into his shoulders and her mouth parted in an "O" of surprise. "H-houshi-sama," she moaned throatily, her eyelids twitching in ecstasy. Her searing core clenching and wringing him.

It was too much. He buried his face in her neck and let himself explode, filling her with his seed. Claiming her as his.

He could feel every pump of blood his heartbeat spurred in the aftermath. He never wanted to move, never wanted to pull out of her. But he could feel himself growing drowsy and he didn't want to pin her in his sleep. Summoning the energy to roll to the side, he groaned onto his back. He was pleasantly surprised when she followed, resting her head on his chest.

"Sango…"

"Don't," she cut him off, her voice soft, drained. "Please don't ruin this with your pretty lies."

Miroku stiffened.

Sango didn't seem to notice as she yawned and settled in to sleep. In only moments her breathing was steady, but he was wide awake now.

He had dreamed of taking Sango for so long, but it was the dread of this moment that had held him back. He had thought that lying next to her in the post-coital tangle of sheets would be nothing short of smothering. Instead he'd felt weak with relief, with joy, with anticipation for the next time—for the future. In the wake of her words, he felt her slide away and out of his reach.

Where…where the hell were the shackles?—the cause and effect shackles of commitment that had always been the backhanded promise of Sango's embrace?

He'd thought foolishly that Sango's coming to him, giving herself to him meant that she saw him as something more than himself. Always he'd seen an idealized version of himself in the reflection of her eyes. But that was a fanciful delusion on his part. Sango saw him with perfect clarity: not the man he wanted to be, but the man he was. And she'd just proved it. It was one thing to point out his decadence in daily life, it was another after making love. Clearly the barriers were very much still between them. Even when he was inside her he was "houshi-sama".

It meant that she loved him, but that she was tired, resigned. That she had gone and done the one thing he thought she would never do: accept him as he was. The thought churned his gut utterly, and he knew that something inside of him was breaking.


	7. Bedside Manner

**A/N:** Portions of this chapter draw from part 356 of vol. 36 of the _Inuyasha_ manga. Though I have altered character dialogue to adapt the story to this medium and this fiction, it is not mine but Rumiko Takahashi's. It also references heavily the battle in parts 353-355 of vol. 36; I skipped over that battle because I didn't want to adapt it to this story—I felt it would break the pacing and take the focus away from where I wanted it in the story. Just know that a big-deal battle happened between the last chapter and this one.

**Chapter Seven:** Bedside Manner

Sango clenched her knees to her chest against the chill of the evening. Kaede's hut was well heated for the most part, but she was huddled in the corner next to the window. Miroku was asleep beside her. Kagome was leaning against the far wall. Kaede and Shippou were just outside preparing medicinal herbs quietly as they could seem to manage with Shippou's clumsiness so as not to wake the wounded houshi, but Sango was ignoring them.

She was in that half-conscious state of shock that was becoming all too familiar. She'd felt it when her home was destroyed and her parents were killed, when she'd discovered her brother Kohaku possessed and manipulated for purposes that made her insides ache with disgust. And now, Miroku nearly dying to save them all—taking the Saimyoushou's poison and holding up the barrier until he passed out in stomach acid, just like the chivalrous ass he could be.

They had been so foolish. Naraku had lead them into an obvious trap, but they had been too eager to actualize their revenge and complete their quest to see it coming. Inside the belly of a gigantic stone oni, she and her friends had very nearly been digested. Inuyasha and Kagome had braved the acid to use their sole remaining Shikon fragment and blast through the wall of the stomach. Sango had never felt as useless and impotent in her entire life as she had holding the unconscious houshi in her arms while the disintegrating steam swirled around them. She had taken off her gas mask, placed it over his mouth, and shaken him bodily, begging him to breathe. For one unrelentingly long moment, she'd thought he was gone. Dead.

But he wasn't. She should be happy, relieved that he had pulled through. But she couldn't bring herself to be. He was breathing beside her, but it felt like he had died. It wasn't as though he had never come close to death before—it wasn't even as though she didn't understand the curse he bore. But it was different to be holding him in her arms, feeling him slip away. Miroku's life was fragile. So very fragile in a way she'd never allowed herself to acknowledge, even if she could say the words "he has less than a year to live". She wasn't playing a game of _if_ she lost him, but rather _when_ she lost him. Sango felt tears in her throat but they did not reach her eyes. She was too anesthetized and too motionless. That surprised her, the numbness.

She was sick of this—the whirlwind of it. The _heft_ of it. Her feelings for Miroku had especially been a trial. She didn't know if it was because he was right there, every day, but it took effort for the emotions he brought out in her blur and fade. Each moment with him took on a defined and weighty significance that stood in sharp relief to everything else that passed through her. It was painful and it was draining. But she was finally beginning to master it.

She was a woman now, in the most basic sense of the word—Miroku had seen to that. He had taken her virginity, but that was the catalyst, not the change. The needs of a child, to be nurtured, cared for, were slipping away. Sango had always worried that giving herself to Miroku would leave her a heap of emotions at his mercy. But her fears, it seemed were based in naiveté. In letting go of her childhood, she was able to see her relationship with Miroku clearly. They would fight together. He would die one way or another at Naraku's hand. Should she survive, she would marry someone else. This man lying next to her was her lover, not her husband. It was very simple. Miroku was not for her.

She could sense her romantic ideals hardening inside her and felt almost like a third party looking on—as though this disillusionment were happening to someone else. She felt a cold fascination at the realization.

What surprised her most, however, was the freedom she felt. It was a process that began the moment she decided to go to Miroku's room and was completed when he was revived from the Saimyoushou in her arms. Accepting the world as it was, Miroku as he was, and their circumstances as they were, left her free to love him with an abandon she had previously thought impossible. She didn't have to worry over what sort of husband or father he would make, or the fact that he couldn't seem to stay in one place long enough to claim it "home", or even that he couldn't keep his hands off any pretty girl that happened to wander within arm's length. All of that was trivial if she only had months left to spend with him. The only thing that mattered was that she loved him. The simplicity of it was lovely and despairing at once.

"I've boiled the herbs," Kaede announced entering the hut. "They should help mitigate the pain caused by the acid."

Kagome stepped forward and took the bowl from the older woman. "Thank you Kaede-baa-chan." She sat down on the floor and slowly lowered her burned and blistered feet into the mixture, wincing slightly at the first touch.

Kaede turned to Sango, "How is houshi-dono fairing?"

Sango looked at Miroku for the first time in hours. "I don't think he's completely shaken off the poison of the Saimyoushou yet."

Kagome looked up from the bowl. "Have you seen Inuyasha?"

The old woman gestured with an inclination with her head. "Last I saw he was sitting out on the fence sulking."

Shippou made a rude noise. "He's probably just ticked about losing out to the Shikon fragment's evil."

"He used the fragment?" Kaede was alarmed.

"Yes," Kagome said, an undercurrent of firmness in her voice indicating her defense of Inuyasha. "Thanks to his bravery we were all saved."

"And thanks to your powers of purification, Inuyasha didn't completely youkai on us," the kitsune put in. He didn't see Inuyasha entering the hut behind him. "The big hanyou bastard has a ways to go."

Inuyasha clipped him across the head absently, and stepped toward Kagome. He glanced around briefly, then commanded, "Come with me."

Kagome paused, a bit wide-eyed, and slowly lifted her feet out of the bowl. She took the hand Inuyasha held out to her and, rising to her feet, followed him out of the hut.

Shippou waited until he knew the pair was out of hearing range before saying, "That bastard better be taking her to apologize."

"Now Shippou," Kaede admonished. "Their business is not ours."

"Sure it is," he disagreed.

Sango hid a smile behind her hand, meeting eyes with the older woman.

Kaede held her hand out to Shippou, "Come."

"Why?"

"So that you can help me gather more herbs and finish the laundry."

Shippou groaned but got to his feet.

Kaede turned to the taiji-ya. "I'll watch the fire and tend to houshi-sama," Sango answered the question before she could ask it.

The old priestess and the kitsune cub lifted the flap and exited the hut, Shippou's mouth already pouring out a story about an encounter he once had with a kappa.

"They're gone?"

Sango started when she heard Miroku's voice. Her gaze swung to the ailing young man at her side. His eyes were open. He seemed pale to her and he was still very handsome—though she wasn't entirely assured of her judgment. Since they met he had grown more beautiful in her eyes almost daily and she knew that her feelings had distorted her perception devastatingly. She could feel her pulse ticking in her throat.

"Yes," she whispered. "They're gone."

His gaze was steady and slightly unnerving. "Good."

Sango found the heavy graveness of the past hours evaporating away. She knew if it weren't for the effects of his presence she would be disconcerted by that fact, but as it was, the butterflies in her stomach were zinging this way and that.

"Yes," she replied absently, her skin humming too loudly for coherent thought to form. "It's good."

He smiled tiredly. "Good," he repeated.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked taking his hand.

He closed his eyes and she knew he was going to lie even before he spoke, "Of course. Those herbs of Kaede's are starting to kick in."

"What can I do to make the pain less?"

All he did was open his eyes, but Sango felt a hot shiver shake her. Was there really suggestion in his gaze, or did she just want there to be?

Her thoughts, much to her shame, had turned prurient without so much as a nudge. It was a phenomenon with which she was becoming more and more familiar. Parts of her body that had before seemed extraneous and inconvenient developed sudden purpose under Miroku's practiced touch. Stretches of skin that had never seemed to have much feeling were veritable hot-zones. Her body had always been a tool, had always been utilitarian. She was a warrior after all, and her body was a weapon. But Miroku had awakened her to an even more basic functionality of her physical form—one for which it seemed she was specifically designed.

Miroku identified the gleam in her eyes with a satisfied smirk. "Is my virtue in danger, young miss?"

Sango looked down, her face growing hot. She was very much in favor of violating his virtue, but she was still too modest to play his games. They were just a bit too casual and practiced for her tastes, and she wasn't quite so jaded as yet to make light of her fall from maidenhood.

Instead she lifted a tentative but purposeful hand and placed it on his chest. There was a moment before she raised her eyes back to his. Her face flushed with excitement and nervousness at what they were contemplating doing, Sango asked him, her voice serious, "Are you feeling up to it?"

"I am always up to that."

Sango glanced at the entrance. "What if…?"

"They won't be back for a while yet," he reassured. Part of her knew that there was no way he could know that for certain, but his fingers had snaked up to the knot of her yukata and the heat of them was distracting to her common sense. She shuddered as her clothes became loose, and it was too easy to give in.

His eyes were like sinkholes, an ambuscade lying in wait to envelop her, and without realizing it, Sango had bent to kiss him. His lips tasted like medicinal tea, but she didn't mind. They were too soft and moved too beguilingly for her to mind. His hand lifted to caress the back of her neck and she found herself moving. She didn't know how he did it, but with just a hint or suggestion in the way he held her he could guide her to move in any way he wished. She swung a leg over him and settled on top of him.

"Sango," he whispered between kisses, "I seem to be lacking in my usual strength. Rather than asserting my usual manly charge, I think it would be best for you to take me."

Blushing warmly she pulled back and look at him. "Me…? T-take you?" she chewed her lip. "How?"

His eyes laughed at her. "I think you know, Sango."

She wasn't so sure she did, but she had an idea. She would follow what he did to her and hope that the process was similar in reverse. Sango bent to kiss him and reveled in her open yukata allowing her bare skin to rub against his robe-clad body. Only one thin layer separated them as most of his clothes had been stripped during the fever. She reached down between her straddled knees to grasp the coarse fabric and, pulling away from his mouth briefly, lifted the garment over his head. His warm, athletic arms slid inside her open clothes to stroke her bare back and pull her down to him.

She indulged him, giving his lips a bit more attention before moving to his jaw and neck. After undressing her, Miroku would take his mouth down her body and she rather discomposedly mimicked that. She would never have the audacity to tell him, but she was very near obsessed with look and feel of his chest. He was harder than she beneath his skin, and that aroused her. There was nothing but muscle and heat, and there was something almost feral about that, as though she were mating with a predator. His perfectly defined shoulders, pectorals, and abs were as exciting to taste as they were to touch and the gratified noises in his throat encouraged her. She moved down even lower, finding her tongue at the crease where his torso and leg met, and she froze.

Her mind was racing. She knew what he did next, but was it something she could reciprocate? She studied his manhood, swollen and purple, jutting toward her. She weighed the embarrassment of experimenting only to find out it was improper or unpleasant with the embarrassment of asking him aloud.

"Houshi-sama?"

"Yes?" his voice was taut.

"That…that thing you do when you…kiss me?" she almost couldn't say the words.

There was a heavy pause of silence before he spoke, "Yes."

"D-do you…would you like me to…kiss you?"

He swallowed so hard it was visible, "Hell yes."

Sango smiled through her blushing, and a shiver that went through her at the coarse hunger in his reply. She didn't let herself think about what she was about to, but rather simply lowered her head and kissed the tip very softly. It was just a shy peck, but the strained groan she was given in response slightly emboldened her. Her lips still closed, she pressed her lips to his skin once more, this time for a bit longer. She curiously studied the shaft and experimented kissing the entire length, knowing that she was putting off the slightly inevitable. Swallowing and licking her lips she went back to the head, kissing hesitantly, she slowly opened her mouth. She didn't know quite how to do any of this, but she tried to emulate the way she kissed his mouth. She took the tip into her mouth as if it were his tongue. It was large and the fit was tight, but she stroked with her own tongue the way his did when it made her knees dizzy. Of course, she was not nearly as skilled as Miroku and she was also quite nervous, but she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the memory of the way his mouth moved with hers.

The growl that ripped his throat in response startled her and she pulled back a bit wide-eyed. He had never made a noise like that before.

Searching his face, she watched as his eyes opened. He took in her expression and she got the feeling that he was holding back no small amount of mirth. "Sorry to frighten you love, but if you had remained even a few moments longer, you would have been much more alarmed."

Her brows furrowed and she started to ask him what he meant, but he cut her off. "We'll have that discussion later." He grasped her wrist and pulled her toward him, "Come here."

She thought he just meant to pull her up to kiss him again, but was surprised when took hold of her waist instead and urged her to move up even further. She reached a point where she was on her knees, the wall of the wooden hut inches from her face, and her pelvis hovering over his face. Bashfulness bloomed in her cheeks as she realized what he meant to do.

Miroku pulled her down to his face and she whimpered before his tongue even touched her. When it did she nearly collapsed against the wall before her, her arms coming up to brace herself. He had, of course, done this before. But not from this angle. As usual, this particular act embarrassed her with its entwined intimacy and vulgarity—but it also aroused her so thoroughly her limbs shook, vibrating against the wall beneath her palms. But this…this position, it allowed him access to parts of her she never knew existed. And she felt so wanton, so wicked, crouching over his face this way.

His tongue slid up inside her and she bit her lip hard, whimpering, "Houshi-sama…"

Miroku's fingers clutched her hips even tighter, and pulled her down harder onto his face. She gasped and then groaned—how was he getting his tongue so deep into her? How was he moving it in and out so quickly? She collapsed against the wall, her nails periodically trying to dig into the wood.

When he slipped his tongue out of her just as slickly as he had slid it in and took her throbbing nub into his mouth for a suck, she knew she needed to come. So she cried out and ground her pelvis down on his face.

Sango had long since caught onto his game. Miroku was proficient enough that he could control not only when she came, but also under what stimulation and how hard. And he always sped things up when she was vocal; she could only conclude that he enjoyed listening to her squeal.

She expected him to finish her off, but instead he stopped rather abruptly and pushed her back slightly. Sango was ready to she scream—her core was too hot and ached too painfully. She glanced down between her legs to see him looking up at her.

"Sango, I think it is time for you to take me."

Had she been even slightly less aroused, she may have shyly asked for instructions one last time, but as it was she didn't care if she got it wrong so long as she reached her climax. She pushed away from the wall and crawled backwards down his body. She gasped loudly when she felt his fully erect and scorching hot appendage brush against first her thigh and then her slick heat. Sitting up, she took the rod in her hand and held it in place so that she could lower herself down onto it. Her wanton sigh was met with his groan of what could only be called relief.

It was different like this, she thought to herself, eyes closed. He was…deeper, filling her almost too fully. She had to move. Carefully lifting herself up and then down again, she knew that she would never shy from a chance to take him again. This was heady, being able to control the pace, the pressure. She was just getting the hang of it when Miroku stopped her.

A bit dazed, her eyes drifted open. "What?" she managed in a pant.

"Sango," his voice didn't sound much better, "I need to see your breasts."

A bit startled, she looked down at her body. Her yukata was on but wide open, leaving her entire body on display save her breasts. Sango's hand rose to pluck at the fastenings of her breast bindings, but they were just a little to shaky to be of much use. His hands rose to help hers and she was surprised when he opted to simply loosen the wrappings rather than remove them. They slid down her chest deliciously and pooled at her hips. The combined sensation of the fabric trailing over her skin and his calloused hands was too much—she had to move.

She rose and fell on his beautiful cock again, and couldn't help but continue. If she closed her eyes she could feel his heartbeat pounding in his cock, which was not only unbelievably erotic, but also vaguely comforting, reassuring. He was alive, alive and making love to her. He wasn't dead, not yet.

His skillful fingers stroked her breasts and he began to move his hips to meet hers. It had just dawned on her that he was close when she felt him erupt inside her. Her nails dug into the skin of his chest and she gave herself to the moment. Her climax started before his had finished and she collapsed atop him and into the comfort of his arms.

She lay there quietly while she waited for her pulse to go from racing to lazy. Sango loved this part—the lying in his arms after the fact part. There was a feeling of wholeness. These were the times when she thought most kindly of him—everything became very clear and she saw his flaws for what they were: at once irrelevant and part and parcel to the man she loved.

The man she loved.

"I love you."

She felt him stiffen beneath her and was jolted right out of her post-coital haze. It had seemed like the most appropriate and natural thing to say just moments ago, but her rational mind had just kicked in and was telling her it was anything but. She dug her face into crook of his neck even deeper to avoid pulling back and looking up at him.

The moment seemed to stretch and stretch before he spoke. "Sango, say that again."

She swallowed hard and summoned her courage. "I…"

"No, look at me when you say it."

Sango chewed her lip and braced herself. She told herself it was silly—she had already said it and there was nothing she could do to erase the damage now. She slowly raised her head so that she could look him in the eye. "I…love you."

"You really mean it, don't you." There was something near wonder in his voice.

She raised her chin almost defiantly. "Of course I do—and it's not like you didn't know. You've known for a long time."

He looked away. "Yes," he whispered, "I have." It was a long moment before he looked back at her. "Are you telling me now because I almost died?"

"No."

"Are you telling me now because I will die?"

That was just a little too close for comfort and she pulled back and away from him. His eyes were so accusatory she felt her nakedness. She reached for her breast bindings and began to straighten them hurriedly, both to eliminate her exposure and to have an excuse to look away.

As she firmly retied the knot, he grabbed one of her wrists. "Did you agree to marry me because you knew that I would die?"

Her eyes narrowed, "No, but I know you asked me because you knew you would."

Miroku pulled himself up into a half-sitting position, "You think you can read me now, do you?"

She closed her yukata, "I hope not."

Sango felt a chill when she saw his jaw clench. "I see. So I'm your tumble till I die, then you plan to rope in someone else."

Sango rose to her feet, "Would you even care if that were the case? Really? I thought this was what you wanted."

She wasn't certain, but for a moment she thought perhaps that she had actually hurt him. "If I'm such a bastard, why do you love me?"

"You tell me," she affected her coldest shrug and turned toward the door. She hoped he would ask her to stop even though she didn't want him to see the tears that had already started to run down her face. But he didn't call out to her as she left the hut, and maybe that was worse.


	8. Night Bathing

**A/N:** This chapter references parts 357-358 of vol. 36 of the _Inuyasha_ manga. Like the battle in the stomach of the stone oni, it was something I did not want to adapt, but certainly needed to acknowledge. The side plot of the medicine seller conman is not mine but Rumiko Takahashi's.

**Chapter Eight:** Night Bathing

Miroku was in a foul mood.

He cursed the ceiling as he lay on his back, alone in the room he would be sharing with the presently absent Inuyasha. Sango had been nothing but tolerant and affectionate over the past few days since their fight and he couldn't help but wonder what she was playing at. It was as though she had simply cooled and let go of the issue. This was utterly maddening. He was so rankled, so flummoxed inside—how could she have settled into a state of acceptance and peace so easily? It was as though she were content with their current arrangement, as though she forgave him.

His own mother never forgave his father for leaving her alone to raise their child, brave the scornful glares, and die young and violently without him. She had spoken acidly of his father's faults from the earliest Miroku could remember—of his desertion, of his emotional indifference, and, most bitterly, of his philandering. Miroku hadn't even begun to lie to Sango, to mistreat her, to neglect her. He knew it, and she new it. He had never wholly tried to suppress his nature or compensate for his insufficiencies—never honestly wanted to, but that was different now. He longed to do right by her. Still, his hedonistic temptations were great, his strength of will to resist weak, and he had already failed her in so many ways. He never should have taken her. If he truly cared for her, he should have never. There was so much she deserved, so much that she _needed_ he couldn't give her. Harder was knowing that this would not be the last time he failed her; his selfish disposition was to be reckoned with. He would slip again and probably again after that. Yet Sango had pardoned him before the fact.

That should have made him feel better, he supposed, but it did more the opposite. The argument they'd had after making love in Kaede's hut had spelled things out for him, revealed the ugly face Sango's love had taken on. She recognized his death as imminent and thus absolved him of all crimes past, standing, and pending. It was all because he would die. She was his now because she wouldn't have to be a year from now, because she wouldn't have to be for the rest of her life. Which meant she wasn't his at all.

He didn't know when or how, but there had been a complete shift of power in his relationship with Sango. Just a month ago he had been in control. He cared for her, but she loved him. He wanted sex, but she wanted marriage. He was confident in his experience, in his desires—but she was floundering, too unsure of her appeal and too preoccupied by the hunt for Naraku and her brother. He had been more certain, more free—because he wanted less. But it seemed Sango had had an epiphany. And it seemed he'd had one as well. Only Buddha could understand how, but in the dawn after she had given herself to him, they had walked away changed people. He now wanted so much, perhaps more than he was qualified to give or accept in practice—but he wanted it. And she wanted so very little. She now expected absolutely nothing but the barest minimum he was capable of giving her. The shackles he had always dreaded were nowhere to be found and he…was so very disappointed.

Perhaps it was because this development reflected the most unflattering image of himself he could recall seeing. Sango thought more highly of him than any other—_she loved him_. And in him she saw a figure so degenerate he was beyond reclamation.

Such was the rub: did he truly desire more from his relationship with Sango, or was he simply offended that she did not?

If Miroku were honest (a recent predilection that was, to his horror, becoming something of a habit), it didn't much matter. His feelings, whatever the hell they were, had no real bearing on the state of events. Something inside Sango had hardened and he was fairly certain that no softening on his part could reverse the damage.

Perhaps it was this futility that had him so vexed. He was a pessimist by nature, but never before had his every course of action seemed so pointless.

Or maybe it was none of this, but rather that Sango had allowed a mosquito youkai to ravish her neck, suck her blood, in the name of a product that did not exist.

Miroku, Sango, Inuyasha, Kagome, and Shippou had gone in search of the so-called medicine peddler after hearing rumors that he might have an all-purpose antitoxin that would protect Miroku from the Saimyoushou poison. Soon after setting out, however, it became obvious that their quarry was, in all actuality, more handsome lecherous swindler than town savior. The youkai had also taken an alarming liking to Sango, a liking she seemed, at least superficially, to reciprocate. The karmic irony of the situation was hardly lost on Miroku, and it left a bad taste in his mouth to consider the possibility that he may be more Sango's "type" than an extreme deviation caused by an overflow of uncontrollable amorous feeling and bad judgment. Belonging to a type of man Sango was drawn to was much less flattering than being the one and only who had lead her down the dark, twisted path of temptation.

Jealousy. There it was again, and unfortunately it didn't seem to be going anywhere.

He couldn't help but notice that she hadn't come to him tonight. It was the first night in almost a week that she had not come to him.

It was no use, Miroku realized bitterly, sitting up and tossing the covers off his legs. He would not be sleeping tonight. He slid his feet into his sandals and pulled on his robes. Shambling to the door, he picked up his shakujou from where it rested and leaned on it slightly while he slid the door open.

He had taken more poison than he ever had during the battle inside the stone oni, and even now, a week and a half later, his body was feeling the effects. His lungs burned as well from the amount of miasma he had inhaled while holding up the barrier around the others. Still, he knew he was far better off than Kagome, who still winced every time she took a step.

It was dark outside, and quiet. The veranda was deserted when Miroku stepped onto it. Something about this town seemed familiar and he wondered absently if he had passed through before. It was entirely likely as he had been nomadically moving through this region since the age of thirteen, but it may also just be that he had seen so many towns through his travels that they were all beginning to look alike.

He could see light glowing through the paper wall of the room next to his where the girls and Shippou would be sleeping, but Inuyasha was nowhere to be seen. This was not surprising. The hanyou would much rather sleep outdoors than in—especially when he and Kagome where quarreling (a feat Inuyasha had already managed despite the good will he had incurred during their last battle).

Thinking that a soak would do him a world of good, both for his overwhelmed mind and his weak limbs, Miroku set off toward the bathhouse. His sandals were nearly silent against the soft dirt and grass, still somewhat damp from the morning rain. He should have taken that slight slickness more seriously, he realized too late. The mud beneath him seemed to become impossibly slippery in the space of a single step, and the world toppled. His reflexes were slowed; he made a desperate grab for his shakujou to steady himself, but only succeeded in cutting his hand on the rounded blade.

It seemed he'd found a puddle, Miroku concluded as he lay there on his back, watery mud seeping into his robes. He could have sat right up—or, more precisely, he should have. But he didn't. He found himself lying there for a very long moment. He lifted his cut hand to examine it in the moonlight.

Blood. It glittered as it ran down his palm to his wrist. The universe was perhaps trying to tell him something—the universe seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

Fuck the universe.

He pulled himself into sitting position with effort. His back ached from the rock he had landed on, and he winced as he used his shakujou to heave onto his feet.

Well, he thought as he took stock of himself, what had started as a whim had become a necessity. Mud was in his hair and in his sandals; a bath was sounding like a definition of paradise at this point.

But when he arrived at the bathhouse, he saw a very familiar yukata and slayer's suit folded neatly beside the door to the women's hot spring.

He knew he shouldn't, of course, but the need to see her was sudden and great. He pulled open the door silently. Down past cobbled the path, Sango was waist deep in water soaping her naked breasts.

Miroku stood silent and almost frozen. She was so beautiful and so very far away. The droplets of water dotting her skin caught the light of the moon in such a way that, had he not known slightly better, he would have wondered if perhaps he had stumbled upon a goddess bathing, as in some bedtime tale. He stood there like that for a long time, his eyes moving over her in infinitesimal increments. This moment seemed a very special one, and Miroku knew it would be fleeting. Right now she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But he was a cynical enough realist to understand that this would not always be the case. She would grow old. Or maybe it would happen before that—maybe he would take her beauty for granted, maybe as early as tomorrow. There was also an extreme subjectivity to the moment he couldn't help but admit to; his vision was clouded by the tender feelings he had for this woman. Sango was uncommonly lovely, yes, but his head was aware of more beautiful women in his past and the probability of more in the future. His heart, however, was beating in a frenetically awed way that disagreed.

The realization was something that hit him squarely in the stomach. It was rather uncomfortable and certainly unwanted, but for the first time he actually considered the nature of love and the possibility of it manifesting in him. Did he…love this girl?

The question frightened him to no small degree, but mostly he was puzzled. He thought about it as she dunked her head under water to rinse her hair. He didn't think so. But then how would he be able to tell? He had never loved anyone, after all. Not even his mother or Mushin. He cared for them, of course, but not in the selfless way people who were afflicted of this emotion described. And then he forced himself to consider if perhaps he was deliberately misreading the warm, swelling feeling in his chest because he did not _want_ to be in love with her. Nevertheless, the fact that he was even asking himself this question was disturbingly monumental. He had never done so before.

Miroku closed the door as silently as he had opened it. The idea of bathing with Sango, of making love to her, did not sound as appealing as it probably should. In fact, just now, he'd rather she didn't exist.

He walked to the other side of the hut, hesitating just slightly before pulling the door to the men's hot spring open and stepping through. The steaming pool was deserted and he was relieved. Leaning his shakujou against the wall of the bathhouse, Miroku advanced toward the water, disrobing as he stepped. He tossed his clothes into the spring before him as they now needed washing every bit as much as he did. He dunked himself completely under, the water scalding his skin, and Miroku grimaced in pleasure.

Breaking the surface, he breathed in the steam, willing it to clear his head. It had the desired effect and he felt rejuvenated. There was a problem that needed to be dealt with. He was disgusted with how it was affecting him and how long it was taking for him to puzzle his way through it. He gritted his teeth in determination. He would not leave this fucking hot spring until he figured it out—if he really was teetering on the edge of falling in something like love with Sango, the brooding had to end now.

First he needed to turn the fact that he was a fatalistic bastard in his favor. Rather than using it as an excuse to mope in his room, he resolved to implement it toward the preservation of his sanity. He couldn't change what he couldn't change: his damned curse, the fact that they were at war, Sango's feelings, his feelings.

But he could manipulate.

He was obviously unsatisfied, unhappy. So, what was it that he wanted?

Miroku pondered as he beat the mud from his clothes with a rock, confident that the answer would come to him. He knew he wanted her, of course, but he believed he could be more specific. He had her body, he had her love, he had her forgiveness. Shit, but that was a lot. It was more than any average man could hope for, yet still he was restless. Could the truth really be so simple—the very thing that he had been raging morosely over all night? Was he really so disappointed with Sango's loss of innocence? Did he just want her back to the way that she was?

If so the universe had not only a sense of humor but of _schadenfreude _as well. _He_ was the one responsible for that change. Naraku, of course, had started the process, but it was Miroku who had delivered the killing blow to the naïve girl and had created the jaded woman. This new Sango lacked wonder and faith in the world…in him.

He froze before bringing the rock down again, something in him chafing raw at the honesty of his thoughts. Yes—yes, that was it. What he missed, what he wanted was the way Sango would look at him with something near worship in her eyes.

The rock dropped into the water with a sickening plop. Buddha's serenity help him. He was a big enough bastard for hurting and embittering her so completely in the first place, but wanting that spark back in her eyes just so he could do it all over again….

And just like that, the fight went out of him. Moments before he had been so invigorated, resolving to manipulate his heart's desire into his hands. But he couldn't do that. True, it was within his capabilities; he was nothing if not a conman—he lied so well he convinced himself most days. And he had other weapons to use against her: her innate goodness, her desire to believe in the impossible, and most of all, her love for him. He could make her look at him like that again in under a week if he focused all his energies. But he _couldn't_ do that.

Imagining the consequences such egotism on his part would have for her brought a physical ache.

Fuck, it was true—it was all true. And he was doomed.

This was foreign ground to him. He had sacrificed his health for others, had gone into battle ready to give his life for others. It was easy—probably because he never had long to live to begin with, and he'd never had much to live _for_. But to sacrifice his happiness for someone else….

One of the reasons he was such a selfish pick in the first place was his commitment to squeeze every bit of joy and pleasure from what time he did have. The fact that he was even considering giving up any of that for Sango's benefit meant that he had lost his damn mind.

His lips twisting in disgust, he flung his clothes over the line to dry. _No_, he gritted, _no_. He was no altruistic ninny. He now knew what he wanted, and Sango was hardly made of crystal. If he could bleed for her, then certainly she could bleed a little for him. If outright deceit was now abhorrent to him (a greater life-style crippler he'd never faced), but meek self-sacrifice was equally unacceptable, then surely there was some middle ground. Surely there was a promise he could make her that he could keep.

He was pulling on a communal robe to wear back to his room when he heard the cry of alarm from the town watchtower. Miroku didn't spare time to rinse out his sandals before sliding into them and he snatched up his shakujou on his hasty exit of the bathhouse.

The men of the village were already gathering in the center of town with their simple weapons, torchlight casting shadows more than anything. From the corner of his eye, Miroku caught a flash of red just before Inuyasha landed beside him.

"Attack?" he asked.

"So it would seem," Miroku nodded. "I hadn't heard any rumors about youkai in this area. It could be anything."

Kagome was running up behind them, Shippou and Kirara trailing after her. "Hakudoushi?" she asked, anxious and readying her bow.

"Perhaps," Miroku conceded.

But Inuyasha was sniffing the air and shaking his head, "No. Worse."

"Worse?" she asked.

It was then that Miroku saw the familiar tight tornado over the nearest rooftop, coming to an abrupt halt just before the group. It seemed Kouga had found them.


	9. Miroku's Offer

**Chapter Nine:** Miroku's Offer

Sango didn't immediately hear the watchman's alarm. She was bathing, meditating with her head underwater. She came up for air every other minute or so, then sank back again. It was a technique her father had taught her as a girl, and nothing relaxed her quite like it. There was a restless energy in her veins that she knew would keep her up all night if she didn't do something and a simple bath had not helped. She knew what it was of course—it was a heat urging her to go to Miroku.

Tonight would be the first since she had given herself to him that she would be sleeping alone. Her body didn't seem to like the idea, but there was really nothing to be done. The way Miroku had snapped at her over dinner and stalked off to his room early left little doubt in her mind that he wished to spend the night alone.

Sango was puzzled by this about-face. She would have thought the impetus her imprudent declaration of love in Kaede's hut, but this progression had begun before that. What was wrong with him? It was her every expectation that he would have been blissful at her submission to his charms, that he would gloat even. After all she had given him exactly what he wanted and under terms he himself had stated as a preference. But he had grown steadily more and more churlish as the days passed and he seemed to be angry with _her_. As much as Sango's body ached for his touch, she had no desire to subject herself to his moods.

His moods. That was rich. Before these recent developments, she didn't think Miroku had moods—Kagome was the unfortunate girl who had to put up with an unreasonable man. Miroku would have nights where he didn't sleep, occasional instances where he lost his temper, but he was pleasant and serene even during the worst tension between members of the group. He was their mediator, the one they sent to negotiate lodgings when they entered a town, the one who calmed the frantic people they helped. Miroku was world-wearied enough to distance himself from his emotions for the interests of the group, understanding that his charm made their lives so much easier. Yet now that balanced—even calculated—young man was nowhere to be found. Sango had done something, and he was lashing out at her.

She had been considering what that may be, more bothered by his feelings than she wished to admit. Irrational worries had been plaguing her for days now, and they were beginning to seem more and more plausible. He had desired her for so long, and now she had given in. Was he…displeased? Was she not as he had pictured? In truth, she wanted to be confident enough that she didn't assume any shift in his temperament meant some deficiency in her. But she was a girl who had just given her virginity to the man she loved, a philanderer who had apparently slept with at least one girl in every town he'd ever been to. Those weren't circumstances conducive to self-assurance even in the most poised of young women.

Then, she came up for air and heard the chaos of battle preparation. She cursed as she vaulted from the water—how could she had been so careless?

She didn't spare time to towel off, just snatched up her slayer's suit from inside the bathhouse and pulled it on, her wet skin making anything resembling haste difficult. She tied her hair back so that it was out of her face and retrieved her katana and Hiraikotsu, battle adrenaline already pounding through her system. A good fight was just what she needed.

When she reached the ruckus and saw that it was just Kouga, her stomach fell. It seemed Inuyasha was the one who would be getting a fight, not her.

"I have come to speak with the lovely Kagome," he was saying.

Inuyasha growled. "Over my fucking dead body."

Kouga considered amicably. "If those are your terms."

Kagome stepped between them. "What did you need to speak with me about, Kouga-kun?" she said in her calmest voice, making every effort to keep the fight from happening. When the wolf prince open his mouth with protest clear in his expression, she added firmly, "A private conversation is not a possibility."

Inuyasha gave a snort of triumph and she threw a glare back at him.

Kouga didn't look happy about this exchange being public, but must have decided that Kagome's aggravation was not worth the argument. "I have spoken with the Elder and after much supplication and many ritual sacrifices, he has given me leave to request your hand in marriage."

Sango was stunned. A kazen-youkai being given permission by an elder to marry a human was unprecedented. Inuyasha looked fit to succumb to his own demonic nature and Kagome seemed like she might faint.

"W-what?" she managed.

"I have the blessings of my pack to make you my mate," he clarified.

"Oh, um, Kouga-kun," Kagome's hands were trembling, and she seemed to flinch at every noise Inuyasha made behind her, "I must decline. I'm sorry."

The youkai shrugged. "I know."

"You know?"

He gave her a grin that showed all his teeth in chilling detail, but that he must have thought winning. "I'll ask again later."

"Oh," she repeated faintly.

Sango became aware of the prince's two attendants staggering into the center of town short of breath. They approached, realizing that they recognized her.

"Did he ask her?" Ginta asked her between pants.

Sango nodded. "He asked."

"She say no?"

"Yes."

The wolf youkai shrugged. "Figures."

"What do you mean 'figures'?" an approaching Kouga demanded.

The two attendants were suddenly very interested in a muddy puddle. But Kouga was not her prince, and Sango was not afraid of him. She may get that fight after all.

"Kagome-chan will always say no, no matter how many times you ask her. She loves Inuyasha and that will not change."

She was surprised when the youkai smiled at her instead of reacting with hostility. "Perhaps. But faith that she will one day say yes is important. I love her," he said simply, as though he were telling her something so elementary that she should be embarrassed for not knowing it already.

Sango was taken aback by his words, so much so that she didn't reply as the three wolves took their leave of the town. It was just as well, she supposed. Kouga was clearly not in the mood for the fight she wanted, and she doubted very much there was anything she could have said to dissuade that childish notion he had just spouted off. His unflinching conviction that Kagome would eventually choose him was rooted deeply in an arrogance that could only come from being both youkai and royalty—she couldn't even fathom it. He was a rather ridiculous guy, that Kouga. And now she was just…cranky.

She walked toward her friends, seeing that Inuyasha was in a shouting match with the town head.

"What's going on?" she asked Kagome.

Her friend sighed. "They want us to leave. They don't like that we brought three dangerous wolves into their town."

Sango wrinkled her nose, "Lovely." She looked around. "Houshi-sama…is he still in his bed?"

Kagome shook her head and she seemed puzzled. "He was here just a moment ago."

"He went back to the bathhouse," Shippou chimed in, pointing in the direction of the hot springs. "I saw him."

"Oh." Sango stood for a long moment, torn. Then Kagome gave her a nudge and an encouraging smile. "I'll just go see him then," she whispered absently as she started toward the structure.

When she stepped through the door to the men's hot spring her worst fears were confirmed. Miroku…had been bathing, too? Her slayer's suit and yukata had been sitting out in plain view—he must have seen them, and yet he hadn't spied on her obnoxiously or disturbed her bath with a game of seduction. She tried to swallow the ominous lump rising in her throat, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Whatever was wrong must be serious.

"Houshi-sama?" she called tentatively.

He was down a ways off the cobbled path where his clothes were hanging to dry on a line near a fire. When he turned at the sound of her voice, she was surprised to see a smile split his face.

When she arrived at his side, she saw it was his "charming" smile. That meant he wanted something. Unfortunately, even recognizing the smile and knowing what it meant didn't stop her from being entranced by it. She knew she was gazing at him slightly doe-eyed, and she hated it when she was doe-eyed. Sango groped for something to say. "You washed your clothes."

He nodded. "I slipped and fell in a puddle on my way here."

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He held up his hand and she saw a deep cut bleeding angrily from being freshly washed. "You didn't bandage it?" she demanded, her hands taking his injured one in their grasp of their own accord.

He shook his head. "There wasn't time—I thought the village was under attack."

She nodded not really listening, then commanded, "Sit."

He obeyed with a smirk. She cast about for something to use for binding, and finding nothing, took the belt from his robe. If he was remotely shocked, he didn't let it show, instead teasing, "If this is what it takes for you to undress me in a public, I'll be sure to wound myself more often."

Sango's cheeks burned while she bound the cut. "We're not in public," she quibbled.

"This is a communal bath."

"Yes, but we're alone."

Miroku's other hand caught her chin and tilted it toward his gently. "Yes, we're alone."

Sango barely had time to register he was going to kiss her before his lips touched hers. It was a soft kiss, almost chaste, and when he pulled away Sango couldn't suppress a rapacious whimper. She leaned forward further, begging him to take more than he had. After a bereft moment however, she realized he was not going to.

Her eyes fluttered open to see his dark ones gazing seriously back at her. "What's wrong?"

"Sango," he took her hand, "would you accept eight months or so?"

She was puzzled and more than a little leery. He seemed so painfully earnest, an indicator that he was anything but, and she had no idea what he was asking. "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath before he spoke. "I have been with no other woman since I met you, Sango—not for lack of motivation or effort, of course, but true nonetheless."

This was not a conversation she wished to have and she moved to pull back, but his hand held hers firmly and wouldn't let her.

"The point is, I have experienced eight months of celibacy, and I survived—something I wouldn't have believed a year ago. I think I could manage eight months of fidelity." His thumb stroked the back of her hand. "Would you accept that?"

Sango gaped at him. His appeal was in full effect and he was using his smoothest manipulation techniques…for _this_? What game was he playing with her?—he stood to gain nothing from this agreement. Which only meant that there was something she wasn't seeing. There was always something in it for him. But to dangle this particular carrot…. Did he have any idea just how sacred the very concept was to her?

She heard the slap and saw his head snap back before it registered that she had struck him.

"Ow! Sango what…?"

Ripping her wrist from his grasp, she stood. "Exactly what is your angle?"

His eyes were wide, alarmed. "This isn't like that."

Liar. "Of course not." She whirled and began stalking toward the bathhouse, "Don't follow me."

"I know."

That made her angry enough to shoot a response over her shoulder. "You never follow me," she accused.

She saw that Miroku had recovered from his blow and that his jaw had hardened. "I would be more than happy to follow you if you weren't always running away."

It felt as though he had smacked _her_. That was very near calling her a coward—very near the truth. How did he do this? So completely and adroitly, he had taken all the power, all the comfort she had worked so hard to gain away. She felt as though she had built a fortress of protection around her, and he had just casually sauntered through the front door. But then, that was the cyclical story of her relationship with Miroku—every time she started to feel safe, he would bring her face to face with just how emotionally assailable she was.

Sango stopped walking, stopped moving. The muscles beneath her skin were tense and itching for flight, making her feel like a frightened rabbit. What was wrong with her? This was Miroku and he could only hurt her insofar as she would let him. That's what she told herself—and it was true. It was just that her judgment concerning Miroku was disastrously unreliable.

And what he was offering her…fidelity—eight whole months of it, she wanted it too much to trust any of her instincts.

Yet now he had thrown down a gauntlet, called her out on her habit of running away from any battle with emotional stakes. She felt naked and weaponless without her…well, without her weapons. It was so much easier to slap him, to whap him with Hiraikotsu, to stab him with her katana. Person to person confrontations where people didn't end up bleeding were the types of battles at which Miroku excelled, and truth be told, she was panicking at meeting him on his turf where he had clear advantage. And it was unfair—he already had the advantage in almost every way. But he had called her a coward, so she stood her ground.

She swallowed heavily and turned to face him, resolving to level the playing field. Openness was the only thing that could make him as much a fish out of water as she. "What do you want from me?" she asked again.

His face still displayed confusion, which meant that even now he was trying to inveigle and swindle. He was going to lie. "I—"

"Please," she said and she meant it. In fact, she heard her voice crack with swelling tears. "Please, just tell the truth."

His face crumpled and wilted at her display of raw vulnerability. He closed his eyes and was silent for several excruciating beats. When he opened them they shined with all his intelligence and awareness, with his bitterness and spiritual exhaustion. Sango was wholly unnerved. This was what he looked like without his masks of amiability, politesse, and incompetence, and for the first time since the day she met him, she felt certain that he was going to be candid with her. It was what she had said she wanted only seconds ago, but reality of it was terrifying.

"I want you to think that I am a good man."

Sango blinked. "You are a good man."

His eyes narrowed. "I am being honest with you—against my better judgment. Please return the courtesy."

"Do you really believe that I could be in love with you if I thought you were some kind of monster?" She was too taken off guard to be offended by his doubt and uncharacteristic rudeness.

His gaze did not waver. "You do not consider me capable of monogamy, of settling down in one place, or of romantic love."

"Well, no," Sango agreed. "But those are qualities that would make you a bad husband. They don't make you a bad man." She saw the blatant skepticism in his expression and knew she would have to go much further to convince him. "What's more, you are good man despite yourself and your every inclination. You have your faults and you work so hard to make people suppose that you are harmless yet not to be trusted, that your skills of manipulation are much more transparent than they are. But I know that you love more deeply and sacrifice more selflessly than you would ever admit to yourself or anyone else, that this quest and our companions mean more to you than anything in your life." Her voice became small, but remained steady and full of conviction, "And I know that you care for me more than you will ever tell me." She was careful not to look away even as she spoke that last.

He was visibly shaken. "This is what you believe?"

"Yes."

Miroku looked down and it felt like many, many minutes before he spoke again. "But…you no longer wish to be my wife."

She hesitated before answering, not wanting to hurt him but very conscious of their agreement to be truthful. "I wish to be your lover."

"Because you have decided I would be a bad husband," he supplied as if she had simply given a 'no'.

She had never imagined that this distinction would be important to him. "You could say that. But I love you too much not to take what you are capable of giving me."

He finally looked up and his eyes were blazing with something near anger. "What if I'm capable of giving more than you believe? What if I could give you eight months of fidelity?"

This again? Her eyes widened slightly with fear. "Please don't tempt me."

"Tempt you into what? Having faith in me?"

Unbidden, Kouga's words flashed in her mind. Maybe she was just as big a fool as the prince, because looking up into Miroku's eyes, alight with a nakedness she'd never seen before, she knew that it would not be at all difficult to find that faith. "It's not that."

He seized her hands and pulled her closer, "Then what is it?"

"Eight months wouldn't be enough," Sango confessed. It was true; she would just want more. And it would break her if he dallied with someone else afterward—worse even than if he went out and found a girl tomorrow.

"How can it not be enough?" he demanded. "It's all I have."

It was strange, but for the first time Sango really understood the full scope Miroku's pessimism. He acknowledged the possibility of surviving Naraku's curse, but no part of him actually believed in it. That he would never live to see twenty was ingrained, a childhood conviction spawned the day he had watched his father die.

The realization stopped her heart. Now she understood the true nature of the offer. The wave of emotion started in her stomach and spread to every inch of her. He was giving her all he had to give.

She pulled one of her hands free and reached up to caress the side of his face. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I accept," she clarified.

"Are you—"

She cut him off with a kiss before he could continue. Her heart swelled with the love she felt for this man, and she put everything she could to assuage his doubts and insecurities into the way her mouth moved on his. It wasn't long before passion got the better of him and she found herself pressed a against a tree, his hands roving to the fastenings of her slayer's suit.

It was different than the other times they had made love. Perhaps it was the first time she had ever felt truly safe from _him_ in his arms—cherished. She could scarcely believe it, but for the first time since Naraku had entered her life, she was happy.


End file.
